


Eden

by ClillaryHinton



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25189468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClillaryHinton/pseuds/ClillaryHinton
Summary: Ruth and Debbie are back in LA, trying to find their way back to each other.
Relationships: Debbie Eagan/Ruth Wilder
Comments: 55
Kudos: 105





	1. Prologue: Acting

**Author's Note:**

> This started with a group chat conversation about how Ruth and Debbie would meet again after the s3 finale. Sadly, this no longer needs to be called non-canon compliant 😭 So, *Debbie-as-Zoya-voice*, this is season four now. 
> 
> For Elizabeth, my eye of the storm of 2020.

_"If being an actor was going to happen for you, it would have happened by now."_

Sometimes, Ruth hears Debbie's hurtful words in her head. Like now, while waiting in her car because she's early for scene study class. They used to do this together: sit in her car after class, before Debbie had her big break, back when they were broke, struggling young actors with a friendship Ruth was sure could weather anything. Ironically, back then Debbie had been the one with the doubts and Ruth had been the one convinced they were both going to make it as actors. They used to laugh at themselves and everyone in the class, at endless in-jokes. Lately, those early versions of them have been haunting her: when they were each other's first call if something was wrong in the middle of the night. Back when they were Ruth-and-Debbie and there had been no broken hearts, on either side. 

When she walks in, Mr. Bernstein asks her to read with one of the other women in the group, since her scene partner couldn't make it. Ruth looks at the pages and thinks to herself bitterly that Sheila would have taken one glance and had the lines memorized. She is in a morose mood today, for some reason. The scene she has to read doesn’t make it any better.

"She used to wait for me on that corner, but her absence follows me around, like that dog she used to pet, even though I told her not to."

"I went past our favorite restaurant the other day. Can't eat there now. Same thing with her favorite coffee shop. She's all over that place."

"I thought it would make me a free man. Guess I forgot love isn’t a choice.”

She doesn’t do well with her own scene either. It's just one of those days.

On the way home, Ruth drives past the dive bar where they used to go when they were young and broke and didn't have any of Debbie's suitors on hand to buy them drinks. She could never go drinking there now: it's saturated with memories of her and Debbie, like so much of her world. She hadn't fully realized what a big part of her life Debbie is until now, when she tries to live without her. 

She slams the door of her dreary little apartment and kicks her shoes off, not caring where they end up. She sees the light blink on her answering machine and her stomach clenches. She goes over to her fridge to put off listening. 

_Blink blink blink blink_

The machine's little red eye flashes accusingly at her. Debbie has been calling her. Leaving messages, since Ruth stopped answering her phone. The tone has been light, an increasingly forced breeziness that doesn't sound like Debbie at all. The upbeat "call me back!" has sounded increasingly exasperated lately. It's not that Ruth hasn't called her back, to the contrary. She has. She just makes sure Debbie isn't in when she does. She only calls her former best friend during business hours. She can't face trying to explain to Debbie why what she said was so hurtful, or how Ruth is back waiting tables again, like GLOW and Las Vegas never happened. Or that she hasn't had more than two auditions since she came back: one embarrassing enough for her not to want to talk about it, and one where it was obvious from the bored look on the casting director's face that she had no chance of landing it. Her life has been one giant step back since she got back to LA. So, she lies to Debbie. Again. And it reminds her of last time and gives her a stomach ache and makes her feel dirty on an emotional level. There's also the confusing part where she's angry with Debbie but misses her more than she ever thought was possible. Like her head, or her heart, are trying to tell her that she actually can't live without her.

Right then, the phone rings, and Ruth jumps, like she had forgotten it was live and can't just be used as a recording device. She almost answers, hand hovering above the receiver. 

It follows the usual pattern: Debbie heard her message, she’s sorry she missed her again (does Ruth hear a slight sharpness to the _again_?) but it's great to know she's doing well (Ruth lied and said she'd been really busy) and the subsequent "call me back!" is said with considerably less conviction, like she knows it won't happen, or at least won't happen when she's there to catch her.

Ruth walks over to the fridge and opens the door. Not much in there, as usual. She glances at the box of cheap wine. She didn't intend to drink any tonight: there's been a lot of drinking alone lately, and she's totally aware of how sad that is.

The phone rings again. 

There is a deep breath when the answering machine picks it up. A sigh, maybe. For a moment, she thinks Debbie isn't going to say anything this time. Then her full, warm voice seems to fill every corner of the room. 

"I miss you, Ruthie."

Ruth's heart aches when she hears the longing tone of Debbie's voice. Her hand hovers over the receiver: she desperately wants to call her back. Instead, she walks over to the fridge and pours herself a glass of acidic wine. She sits down next to the answering machine and stares at it for a few moments. She feels strangely guilty when she presses the play button. 

_I miss you, Ruthie._

She takes a big mouthful of wine and presses it again. And again. 

_I miss you…_

"I miss you too,'' she says to the empty room. 

Every time she presses the button, she tells herself it's the last time. It isn't. She makes several trips back to the alluring fridge that night, while she restlessly listens to the siren song of Debbie's longing in the dark room.

*** 

She wakes up with a splitting headache and smudged mascara. She hates herself when she realizes how hard the busy lunch shift will be with a hangover. 

She almost calls Debbie back, but she doesn’t know what to say. Maybe she's afraid she'll say too much. 

Just as she's about to leave for work, she runs back and presses the button again.

_I miss you, Ruthie..._


	2. Waiting

She recognizes her perfume immediately, even though it’s subtle in a room full of people. She can’t help but breathe her in. Her body responds to her like a strong cup of coffee on an exhausted, sleepless morning.

Debbie is beautiful. Ruth hasn't seen her in so long, she's almost forgotten how devastatingly gorgeous she is, how she outshines everyone else in the room. 

They look into each other’s eyes, and for a few heartbeats, the rest of the world fades away. She sees the change in Debbie’s eyes: surprise, joy, betrayal. Ruth has been avoiding her, and here she was, around the corner from her all the time. 

She waits for Debbie to say something. To tell the successful looking men at the table the waitress used to be her friend. That they used to bring the house down together in a Vegas floor show, but it's obvious that she has fallen on hard times again. Or some zinger about not returning her phone calls. 

But she doesn't. She clears her throat and places an order for a salad Ruth knows she doesn't want. Ruth knows what she really wants, because she knows Debbie Eagan. She takes the predictable steak orders from the three middle-aged men around the table and manages to avoid eye contact with Debbie the entire time. As she walks away, she hears one of them ask Debbie if she knows the waitress, and how she skilfully dodges the question. 

She turns the corner but doesn’t go into the kitchen to place the order. She leans against the wall away from prying eyes and tries to process her own reaction. It’s like a bad audition, except it’s her life, and instead of disappointing a casting director, it's someone she cares deeply about. Her chest aches from the hurt on Debbie’s face and from the sticky, unpleasant feeling of shame. She has missed her so much. She’s been so busy being angry with her for the things she said about her career she almost forgot how much Debbie means to her. Seeing her here makes her wonder if it’s been worth it. Deep down, she knows Debbie had a point: it might never happen for her. She hates thinking about it; maybe that’s why she got so upset at her careless words.

Ruth toys with the idea of bringing Debbie garlic bread and a burger instead of what she ordered, something she really wants to eat, to show that she’s not the only hypocrite here. But this job is her only way to pay the bills, and she knows she won’t be that petty.

They’re unusually busy. One of the men in Debbie’s lunch party says it took her long enough when she put his plate in front of him. Debbie’s glare makes her love her a little. A lot. Her feelings are all over the place. She accidentally looks into Debbie’s eyes, and it makes her feel almost nauseous to see how wounded she looks. Well, Ruth’s wounded too, and it was Debbie who shoved that particular knife in. She turns and walks away, on feet of lead.

She has to go back later and ask how the food was, but she barely sticks around long enough for the answer, hearing Debbie's acerbically sarcastic "thanks, it was great" review of her boring green salad without a glance in her direction. She wants to go back to the table and shout at Debbie for hurting her like that. Or take her in her arms and hold her. Maybe both. 

She hears light, heeled steps behind her in the service hallway and prays for it not to be her, but she knows it is. Ruth can almost sense Debbie when she’s close, she always could. 

”Ruth…?”

She desperately wants to avoid this conversation. But Debbie has, literally, cornered her. 

”Can you wait... please?”

She turns and looks at her. 

”Did you get my messages?"

_I miss you, Ruthie…_

Did she get her messages? Only about a hundred times.

She fakes a smile.

"Been meaning to call you back."

Debbie looks into her eyes and Ruth tries to make herself look away, but for some reason, she can't.

"Well, you obviously decided not to."

How could she forget that Debbie can read her like an open book?

Debbie lets out a frustrated sigh.

”How are you doing, Ruth? You decide not to tell me a single fucking thing about your life, except some bullshit about a toothpaste commercial?”

Toothpaste. It was so stupid. But she’d panicked. She’d never be a good enough actress to lie to Debbie successfully.

"There's no commercial, is there? No LA Law call-back?"

She shrugs and plasters a fake smile on her face.

"It didn't pan out."

"Was there ever a commercial?"

"I've got to go."

”Oh, you’re walking away again?”

”I’m working.”

”Yes, I can see that.”

The simple statement is heavy with meaning. Ruth feels a wave of shame: this exactly why she hasn’t been taking Debbie’s calls. Here they are again: Ruth Wilder the failure and her beautiful, successful friend. Her shoulders are tense, and her steps are hard and angry as she walks away. Again. 

Back in the kitchen, guilt roils in her stomach. She’s lied to Debbie for so long, she doesn’t know how to stop. She also forgot how much she hates seeing Debbie sad. It's pure impulse when she grabs a plate of The Smoke House’s legendary cheesy garlic bread and brings it over to their table. It's Debbie's favorite; she used to get it for them as a treat back when they were both struggling actors. 

"On the house. Sorry to have kept you waiting."

There's a spot outside the kitchen where she can see their table without being seen, and she hides there to watch how Debbie reacts to her peace offering. The men around the table eagerly tuck in, and their guttural laughing grates on Ruth's nerves as she watches them. Debbie stares down at her half-eaten salad and doesn't participate in the conversation. With an aching heart, Ruth watches the garlic bread disappear from the plate. Debbie doesn't touch it. 

Ten minutes later, they get up to leave. Ruth waits for Debbie to turn around and look back at her. She doesn't. 

She was desperate for her to go. Now that she has, all she wants to do is run after her. She’s almost grateful for the waitressing drudgery for the rest of the day, to keep her mind off the sadness in Debbie’s eyes. It only works for moments at a time, but it’s something.

***

The last of the diners are finally gone. Charlie the bartender/screenwriter pretends to clean glasses as he looks at Ruth with a raised eyebrow. 

”So… what's up with you today? You've looked miserable all evening."

She likes Charlie, but it’s not the first time he’s been a little too observant for his own good.

"Nothing, just tired."

She worked a double shift today, to make up for when Lisa covered for her during one of the few auditions she'd actually had since she got back to LA. So, she could plausibly be "just tired". She can see he doesn't believe her, but just because they're friendly doesn't mean he's entitled to information about her entire life. 

She's back in the kitchen when she hears his voice again. He must be talking to himself; they're the only ones left. When she walks around the corner to give the dining room one last glance before she leaves and lets Charlie close up, there's someone sitting on one of the barstools, like it's a throne in a great hall and not a faux leather seat in a restaurant smelling of grease and old cigarettes. Ruth stops dead in her tracks.

It’s Debbie, in that same damn immaculate suit and makeup from lunch, one leg elegantly crossed over the other. Her eyeshadow is exactly the same nuance as her jacket, because of course it is. It’s _her_ Debbie, her best friend, who she's known for years. But it’s also a totally different woman, who she doesn’t know at all: Network President Debra Eagan. That person feels like a stranger. 

Charlie shrugs.

”Sorry, I’m not in a position to turn down a $50 tip.”

He looks from her to Debbie and back again with raised eyebrows. 

"Why don't I leave you with the keys, and I'll cover for you tomorrow night?"

He doesn't wait for Ruth's reply. He just places the heavy keyring on the bar and slips away to the staff room. The tension between her and Debbie is apparently obvious, even to onlookers. 

She looks down at her worn waitressing sneakers and the supple leather of Debbie’s pristine heels. She feels ugly in her grubby work shirt, sweat stains under her armpits and a dribble of brown barbecue sauce down the front. A tiny little demon in her head asks if Debbie has come back to gloat. 

"Can we… talk, please?"

"I'm tired, I've had a long day. Can I just…"

"What? Call me? Or, you know, _not_ call me, or return any of my phone calls."

Debbie takes a breath to calm herself.

"Ruth… talk to me? What’s going on?”

She's out of lies. All of her hurt and anger comes tumbling out, the words stumbling over each other. 

"I know my acting dreams seem stupid to you, but my dreams are different from yours. So there's no need to offer me any more jobs because you feel sorry for me. I'm _fine!_ "

There's an angry frown on Debbie's face now. 

"Because I feel _sorry_ for you? You think I wanted you to work with me because I felt _sorry_ for you?"

"Well… don't you?"

Debbie slides off the stool and walks into Ruth's space. 

"When you're wrong, you are spectacularly fucking wrong."

"Because I think it might actually 'happen' for me? Because I'm delusional enough to think I might have acting talent? That I could be something more than your pity project? Sheila was a goddamn _wolf_ and you still put her on stage!"

She tries to keep her lower lip from trembling when she looks up at Debbie.

"I don't need that kind of 'help'. I'm _fine_."

Ruth wasn't sure what she expected, but certainly not the wracking sob that came or Debbie's arms thrown around her.

"I'm not. I'm not fucking _fine_." 

It's a whisper against her cheek and her temple is wet now. When Debbie touches her, it's like all her anger drains away and all that's left is an aching need to be near her.

”It was never about the god damned job. It was about _us_. I wanted to do this with _you_.”

There's been a stone resting on her chest. She takes a deep, shuddering breath and for the first time since she came back to LA, it feels like she can breathe. 

”I miss you, Ruthie.”

”I miss you too.”

She uses the back of her hand to wipe the tears from Debbie's cheek. They look at each other and Ruth sees a change on Debbie’s face, from frustration to… She can't read the expression, but she can feel her own heart race. 

Debbie's lips against hers are a shock to her system, and it's so brief, she's almost isn't sure it really happened. When the warmth is gone, Debbie takes a step back and looks at her with terrified eyes, like she can’t believe what she did. 

Ruth stands there frozen for a few seconds, before she throws her arms around her neck and pulls her back in. The smell of steak and cheesy garlic bread fades away; all her senses have room for is the velvet of her lips, the scent of her skin and her warm curves against hers. Ruth moans as her tongue touches the tip of her own. Her body has been asleep, but it roars awake in her arms. She stumbles backward until her ass hits a table and slides up onto it, to even out the height difference. She spreads her legs and pulls her closer. Debbie grabs her hips possessively as they kiss again. 

Ruth is vaguely aware of a noise somewhere in the background, but she ignores it. There’s no way she’ll voluntarily stop kissing Debbie.

"Whoa, sorry. Forgot my house keys. I'll just grab them and get out of your hair."

Ruth feels mortified and Debbie looks at Charlie like she wants to kill him, as they pull apart. 

When he's gone and they look at each other again, neither seems to know what to say. How do you tell your best friend that all you can think about now is touching her? 

Finally, Ruth can't stand it anymore. 

”Do you… want to get out of here?”

Debbie clears her throat.

”Your place is closer. I can bring you back for your car tomorrow if we take mine.”

Ruth doesn’t get it, at first. It takes her few seconds to hear what Debbie’s actually saying. She’s suggesting that they spend the night together. _Oh god she wants to, so much_. So she nods, even if it scares the hell out of her.

***

It seems like such a strange place to have a life-changing epiphany: in front of an LA stoplight. She’s never been friends with Debbie. She’s been in love with her, all this time. The admiration was infatuation. And lust. She told Debbie she hadn’t wanted to go out with anyone for years. It was true. Nobody but her. 

Ruth glances at her, and like Debbie can sense she's being watched, she turns her head. Ruth reaches for her. Debbie is too beautiful in the half-light, and Ruth can’t help herself. Debbie's hand lands on the inside of her thigh as they kiss, and Ruth has to breathe through her nose to steady herself. She traces Debbie's strong jawline with her thumb. The need to touch her is already compulsive. 

Someone honks their horn behind them. Ruth gives the driver the finger in the rear view mirror. She has a lot of pent up anger these days, like everyone who works a low-paying, high-stress job and can't get rid of the negative energy by throwing someone over their head. 

*** 

Debbie slips her hand into Ruth’s after they get out of the car and walk around the block to her apartment, and Ruth is weak in the knees because it feels so good and so fucking romantic.

It's not until they stand in the hallway of her shitty little apartment that she starts to have doubts. It's a mess; she rarely invites people over. Her bed is unmade, the sheets tangled. Her dirty jeans are on the floor, along with a single sock. She remembers what the inside of her fridge looks like and that cereal is the only food in the house. If she still has cereal, that is. So, she just stands there, butterfly-stomached, sweaty-palmed, and self-conscious. The new Debbie looks like such a strange bird here: a peacock in a sparrow's nest. 

"The place is a mess, sorry."

Debbie raises her eyebrows. 

”Since when do I care about what your apartment looks like?” She sighs, like she knows what's going on in Ruth's mind. ”I’m the same fucking person you’ve always known."

Debbie takes her hand, and Ruth is still trying to process that they kissed a half hour ago, like they were each other’s last source of oxygen, and then again five minutes later. Standing here in her sad apartment, it seems unreal. 

”Can I just… take a shower? I’m gross.”

”OK.”

Debbie steps back and looks into her eyes as she casually shrugs her jacket off and leaves it over the back of a chair. Ruth's heart races as she unbuttons the top button of her silk blouse, like a dare. Then another one. Another. She finds the zipper of her skirt and starts pulling it down, slowly. 

She’s seen Debbie naked before. Lots of times. But never like this. She remembers how she couldn’t keep her eyes off her during the carwash, trying to get the show off the ground. How she felt heat in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the hot day, when she looked at her bare stomach and jaw-dropping cleavage.

But it feels completely different now. Debbie is doing this for _her._ It's such a strange miracle. There's a dull throbbing at her center now. 

Debbie lets her shirt fall open to reveal the silk contour of her bra. She looks deep into Ruth's eyes and slowly slides her hands back and unhooks it. She drops it to the ground without looking where it ends up. When she eases sheer lace over her hips and lets it fall, Ruth is scared that her face is showing what the display did to her. She's not sure she's ready for that level of vulnerability. 

"Are you coming?"

She nods and quickly sheds her sweaty work clothes with clumsy hands. She isn’t oblivious to the fact that this moment will change their coexistence forever. Ruth is acutely aware of Debbie next to her as they walk toward the shower. 

Mascara and eyeliner run down Debbie’s cheeks from the rising moisture. They look like black tears, and Ruth lovingly wipes them away again. It’s one more layer of this new Debbie, that Ruth doesn’t know, gone. She needs _her_ Debbie to look her in the eyes and say this is real. She looks younger and more vulnerable without makeup, and Ruth has always had a soft spot for her like this. 

”I’ve missed you,” Debbie says again, cupping her face in her hands.

”Me too. So much…”

They kiss again, and this time it's slow and gentle. Ruth still can’t believe it's happening: Debbie Eagan naked in her shower, kissing her. Not Mark, not her Paradise Cove co-star, and certainly not Tex, but Ruth. Debbie’s tongue is silky and hot and agile against her own, and kissing her is so soft. How has she controlled herself for all these years? 

Debbie's hands travel along her shoulders down to her waist and the small of her back. It makes her feel warm all over. They stay like that for a while, holding each other close. 

They stay under the spray kissing for so long, the skin on Ruth’s fingers are wrinkled when they finally turn the water off and get out. 

She hates it when Debbie wraps herself in a towel and hides her beauty from her eyes. She lets her fingertips travel along her strict updo to look for pins. When she pulls them out and her hair tumbles down around her shoulders, she looks more human. More possible than before. More like _her_ Debbie. 

Ruth wishes desperately that she’d changed the sheets. But how could she have known, when she left this morning, that the most beautiful woman in the world would stand naked in her tiny apartment and look at her with soft eyes that same night? How could she have known that she'd want clean sheets for her?

The heady, intoxicating scent of her makes her head swim. She looks closely at how fast and erratic Debbie’s pulse is before she puts her lips on it to feel how soft the skin is. There’s a mark from the bra strap on Debbie’s shoulder and she kisses it, pressing her lips against the permanent indentation. Then, just above her collarbone. For some reason, that little dip drives her crazy. Ruth feels drunk on her skin under her hands.

Debbie sits down on the edge of the bed and wraps her arms around her, and it’s pure instinct to straddle her and align their bodies. They should probably be taking it slow, but the tiny gasp from Debbie when she brushes the underside of her swelling breast with the back of her hand is like rocket fuel to her desire. Debbie makes an impatient noise and she flexes her fingers and cups it and moves her thumb over her nipple. The noise is different this time: low and breathy. Their labored breathing is loud in the quiet room. 

She notices tiny parts of Debbie between kisses: how her eyes change color depending on the light, a hint of roots above the blond to remind her of the natural hair color, the curve of her nostril that she’s never thought about before, how the skin is lighter on her breasts and hips. She can’t take that much beauty and lust at once; she has to process it in tiny pieces. But most of all, Ruth notices how she catches fire being skin to skin with Debbie. 

"Should we… talk about this?"

Ruth hears how embarrassingly breathless she sounds. 

"Probably."

Debbie bends her head and takes her nipple in her mouth. Her mouth is warm and wet as she scrapes her tongue over the hard nub. Ruth hears herself let an embarrassing whimper out as she swirls her tongue around it. Debbie’s breathing becomes uneven and ragged as Ruth fists a hand in her hair to keep her there. Instinctively, she spreads her legs and presses her sex against the soft skin of Debbie’s stomach. Debbie cups her ass and pulls her closer. She moves her hips to increase the friction, and Ruth gasps. She’s vaguely aware that she’s never been this turned on before. Maybe it’s not so strange. They’re reaping the fruits of the sexual tension they’ve sown together through all those years of almost being lovers.

Debbie leans back, and Ruth follows impatiently into her arms. She doesn't know if there's a script she needs to follow for sex with another woman. She reminds herself that this isn’t an audition, and she and Debbie have always been off script.

Carefully, she slides her hand down Debbie’s stomach and touches her slick heat. She pauses, trying to process the strange and wonderful feeling of her arousal on her fingers. A wave of lust washes over her as Debbie moans in time with the movement of her fingertips. 

She presses her sex against Debbie's thigh, and she feels sensational against her. Her fingers are drenched in Debbie, and just moving against her naked thigh is damn close to the best sex she's ever had. She can hear them, how wet everything is, how they're almost friction free. Ruth can’t get over how hot Debbie looks, disheveled, chest heaving, eyes half closed, and lips parted, and how much she wants her. 

Debbie shifts and cups her sex in her warm hand, and Ruth feels her _everywhere_. Maybe she should be embarrassed by how wet she is, coating Debbie's palm in sticky arousal, but she forgets to be self-conscious when Debbie moans softly in appreciation. She's gentle when she touches her, curious. She can't hide from Debbie, and she doesn't want to; she lets it all out and becomes loud and demanding. Debbie keeps touching her, even though Ruth has the fleeting thought it must hurt her wrist at that angle, but it feels so good, she becomes selfish. 

Her best friend’s touch makes her a trembling, whimpering wreck. She doesn’t know how more of this intensity she can take; she needs to come so she can catch her breath, since she’s been out of it since Debbie first undressed for her.

She's shocked at how fast she approaches her climax: it's like her body instinctively understands what Debbie is asking of it. When she takes her nipple in her mouth, it pushes her over the edge, clinging to her new lover.

Breathless, she curls into her and presses her sweaty forehead to Debbie's chest. Debbie's heart is beating so hard, she can feel it like a gentle vibration. She must be dying to come by now.

She starts kissing her way down her sternum, and Debbie shifts restlessly under her. She's never done this before, but she wants to, with Debbie. She needs to know how she will feel against her tongue. She gets obsessed with the little dip above her hip bone and kisses it. Debbie's takes a shaky breath when Ruth brushes her lips up the inside of her thigh. 

Kissing the sex of another woman is different as hell from touching a man. It's hot and soft and intense and unbearably arousing. Ruth feels mesmerized by the sight of Debbie’s abandonment to lust and arousal, watching her chest heave with labored breaths, feeling her hand in her hair, pushing her almost roughly towards her need. She languorously slides her tongue along the pink, swollen length of her, relishing the feel of her heat on her lips and feeling her tremble underneath her, tense like a coil. 

"I want to be inside you."

Debbie has to clear her throat before she whispers a breathy _yes._ Ruth pushes her fingers into her, and Debbie nods when she asks if she wants more. She adores all of it, every soft sound, every blushing rosy inch of her, every warm rivulet down her fingers. They're both out of breath now. If the angle allowed it, Ruth would have used her hand to alleviate some of her own tense arousal. Lying between her best friend’s thighs with her taste on her lips, she knows it's the hottest thing she has ever experienced, and she can feel as well as hear her lover approach climax. Debbie isn't the only one being noisy when she throws her head back and covers Ruth's lips in her arousal. She feels Debbie fall over the edge and crash on the tip of her tongue. Ruth keeps on kissing her, drawing it out, making every moaning, shuddering moment last. She tries to be discreet when she wipes the excess moisture off with the edge of the sheet, but she can't hide the proud grin on her face when she crawls back up to Debbie and lies down beside her. 

Debbie touches Ruth's underarm lazily with the back of her hand. She leaves it there, like she needs to keep touching her, and Ruth loves that, almost as much as those kisses that make her shiver in her arms and how hard Debbie made her come. 

"Why did we shower, again?"

"Because I was gross and smelly, and you look insanely hot naked and should never wear clothes. That wasn't the reason though, just an added bonus."

Debbie rolls over and presses her nose against Ruth's neck.

"You were not 'smelly'."

She brushes her lips against her neck, and even though Debbie already wore her out, she moans. When her tongue touches her salt-sweaty skin, she wants her again.

Ruth rolls onto her side and looks into Debbie's eyes. The hands that broke bones in her body cups her face so tenderly. The following kiss is deep and makes her heart pound and her breath hitch, and when Ruth touches her breast, Debbie arches into her and groans. Ruth adores how her nipple contracts and hardens under her palm, and how Debbie rolls her hips impatiently against her thigh as she pushes her over on her back. 

Ruth touches her slowly and gently this time, ignoring Debbie's impatience. She waits until she flinches and looks at her with wide eyes. She's found the secret to how Debbie likes to be touched, and she increases pressure and speed and smiles as she comes apart again. She fully intends to study and audition for the part of the best lover Debbie Eagan has ever had. 

Debbie keeps touching her everywhere, her warm hands on her shoulders, her hips, her breasts, her ass, driving her crazy until she visibly trembles in her arms. When she runs her fingers against her folds, Ruth comes fast and hard, gasping into Debbie's shoulder from the intensity. 

She curls up in Debbie's arms, exhausted. Her body is heavy, sated and a little achy after the intensity of the night. It's surreal that they're here, doing this, and it's starting to sink in that Debbie is her _lover_ now. 

Debbie smooths a lock of her hair away from Ruth’s forehead and stares intently at her. The touch is so soft. Ruth didn’t even know Debbie could be like this. She smiles at her.

”What?”

Debbie looks away.

”Nothing. You’re pretty.”

And Ruth feels like she’s going to die, because her heart can’t take it when Debbie says nice things to her in that soft voice. She’s not strong enough to be adored by Debbie Eagan. 

***

She knows Debbie likes some time to wake up in the morning and isn’t as bouncy as Ruth first thing. So, she tries to leave her alone. But it’s hard.

Debbie sleeps with her back turned to Ruth. She watches the radical curves, in awe of her beauty. They’ve been lovers for less than 24 hours, but Ruth is already obsessed with her body and the feeling of her skin against her own. 

Like she knows she’s being watched, Debbie mumbles something inaudible and shifts a little closer to Ruth. She slides her knee up a little and straightens her shoulder, and Ruth’s heart beats faster at the exposed curve of a swelling breast and the hint of pink folds exposed as she pulls the sheet off in the process.

Faced with all that loveliness, Ruth can’t help herself. She gently sweeps Debbie’s hair back over her shoulder to expose her neck. She follows the abrupt line of her jaw and touches her cheek with the back of her hand. Debbie’s breathing changes, and Ruth senses she’s waking up. 

There are so many things she wants to say, like how radiant she looks with remnants of smudged mascara and messed up hair, and how she never wants her to get up and leave the bed with its tangled sheets and memories of their first night together. And how she thinks she’s falling for her, hard, and maybe that started on the day she met her. And how she can’t believe that they're here together like this, but also how natural it feels and how Debbie’s arms felt like home. But it’s too soon, and Ruth knows how intense she can be, and she doesn’t want Debbie to regret this.

So instead, she kisses Debbie’s shoulder, very lightly, to give her time to wake up or time to say no. But she hums softly in seeming contentment. Heart pounding, Ruth lets her hand wander and caresses the inside of Debbie’s thigh. She lingers and scrapes her nails gently up and down the soft skin. Tentatively, she brushes her sex and pulls her hand back to give Debbie time to object.

Debbie takes a shaky breath. 

”Don’t stop.”

So, she doesn’t. She traces her with her fingertips, slowly, over and over again. Debbie gets warm and slick, and Ruth is in love with how she feels. She traces the hardening little nub and feels her fingers get slippery from arousal. Debbie moans in a soft voice Ruth has never heard before when she slowly pushes inside her. She kisses her neck as she flexes her fingers and slides her tongue along the soft skin to taste the salt. She slides out of her again and touches her clit with slick fingers. She’s so turned on by now, she has to struggle not to touch herself. 

Debbie turns her head and looks over her shoulder. She cups Ruth’s neck and pulls her down and kisses her, deeply and greedily. She moans into Ruth’s mouth when she pushes into her again and moves her fingers against her soft walls.

When she makes her come with small, tight circles around her clit, her arousal covers Ruth’s palm, and she has to wipe some of it off on her sheets. She feels high from the knowledge that she can do that for Debbie. 

Debbie flops over on her back and turns her head to look at Ruth. Her pupils are huge and dark, and her cheeks blush pink. Desire slams into Ruth, and she takes a shaky breath. She needs Debbie to touch her so badly, but she doesn’t want to seem too needy. Debbie licks her lips, and Ruth is afraid her face shows where she desperately wants her tongue to go. 

She doesn’t have to ask. Debbie slides down the bed and pulls one of Ruth's legs over her shoulder. Ruth is soaked and ready for her as she drags her tongue along her swollen folds. Ruth feels like her whole world is collapsing around her as she shivers against her best friend's lips. 

Her room smells of sex and sweat and some new combination of... them? Ruth loves how her dreary little apartment feels transformed by what happened that morning. She should probably change the sheets, but she never wants them to stop smelling like Debbie. 

***

Unintentionally, they fall asleep again and by the time they wake up, they have to rush through showering. Ruth desperately scrambles to find a reasonably clean work shirt. There's no time for breakfast, which is just as well, since Ruth discovers she doesn't have any cereal after all. 

Before they leave, Ruth stops in the doorway. 

”Can we... talk? About last night? What this means?”

Debbie nods. 

”You’re right. We should totally talk.”

Ruth breathes out in relief. She slips her arms around Debbie’s waist and looks into her eyes. 

”It kind of feels like my whole life has changed in the last 24 hours.”

Debbie smiles. It's almost shy, which is shocking, because Debbie is never shy. 

”Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”

They make out in Debbie’s car outside the restaurant until Ruth is late for her shift by a few minutes. Afterward, Ruth’s underwear is sticky with need, and her nipples strain against the soft cotton of her t-shirt after being pressed against Debbie’s warm front. 

***

She finds it hard to focus on work and resents every activity that keeps her away from Debbie. She wants to drag her back to bed and feel her sweat on her chest and her soft moaning in her ear.

Charlie looks at her, eyebrows raised.

”You seem off your game today. Did you fight with your new girlfriend?”

Of course, Charlie would be nonplussed by finding one of his female co-workers with her tongue down the throat of a female guest. He was probably the most open-minded guy she’d ever met. 

She can’t help herself. She smiles at him, because he’s talking about Debbie and she makes her happy. But also, because _ohmygod_ they haven’t really talked about it, but there’s a chance Debbie might want to be her _girlfriend_. 

”Judging from the look on your face. I’m guessing… the opposite?”

"She's not my girlfriend."

"That's not what it looked like last night."

"It's complicated."

"What I saw looked pretty self-explanatory."

"It's… new. We've been best friends for ages."

"And now you've had mindblowing sex, and you think you shouldn't be friends anymore?"

She doesn't reply. His description is pretty accurate, after all. She feels heat in her cheeks as she thinks about it. 

"That good, huh?"

Ruth laughs.

"If you must know, it was pretty great."

”She’s hot. I mean like… Wow. Well played.”

"Yeah. She is."

***

"The Talk" makes Ruth excited and scared at the same time. Her plan is to call Debbie as soon as she gets off. She doesn't have to. Debbie's waiting for her as she walks out of the restaurant.

Ruth feels like the girl in a teen movie who sees her hunky friend, the cool guy all the girls want, waiting outside their high school, and knows it means he’s picked her over the prom queen love interest. Except in their movie, the prom queen is the hunky best friend. She’s never been that girl in the movie before, she’s always been the quirky sidekick.

Debbie looks swoon-worthy, leaning against her car in tight-fitting jeans and a leather jacket. She sweeps her blond curls back, slides her sunglasses to the top of her head and smiles at her, and Ruth can almost hear the end-credit anthem of that movie. She feels like her heart might stop. 

There's no one around, so Ruth wraps her arms around her waist and pulls her close. She loves Debbie’s possessive hand on the back of her neck while they kiss. 

*** 

Debbie's nice Larchmont Village house is so much bigger than Ruth’s sad little East Hollywood apartment, but she tells herself sternly that that's not the point, and she won't let her insecurities get the better of her. Her car looks particularly decrepit next to Debbie's in the driveway. 

She's surprised to see so many moving boxes still unpacked against the wall, even though she assumes Debbie has been here for months. There aren't that many personal items visible either. Nice as it is, it seems a little… impersonal. 

She knows it’s really, really important that they talk, but her mind short-circuits a little when Debbie removes her jacket to reveal a shirt that accentuates every delicious curve. Ruth might have staring rights after last night, but she can’t be sidetracked by how much she wants to rip off her clothes and take her to bed. 

"Should we talk about what happened at the airport?"

It's not what Ruth expects her to say, at all. But when she does, she realizes it's probably all connected: why Debbie's words hurt her so much, why she decided to walk away, and how they ended up here. She's not sure she's ready for that conversation. There's a lot to unpack: maybe too much for one night. But maybe they have to try. 

Ruth sighs.  
  
"I get what you were trying to do. But I can't take a job as your sidekick and lose myself and lose track of what I want. This is still my dream, even if you've moved on. I'm not going to lie: you really hurt my feelings. I know you didn't mean to, but you did. And while it's sweet of you in some weird way and I know you were trying to help, but I–"

Debbie interrupts her.

”Did you really think I offered you a job as a director because I felt _sorry_ for you? Did you think I’d risk my job and the future of the network by hiring my best friend if I didn't think she was qualified?”

Ruth stares at her. It sounded pretty crazy when she put it like that. 

”Ruth, it’s not about that, at all. You’re a really good director. I happen to think you’re a natural, and I really wanted someone I could trust with me on this crazy ride. Apparently, I trust you now, who knew?"

But she smiles and slides her hand into Ruth's to take the edge off the harsh words. 

”It's exciting and a wonderful, great opportunity, but… it's been hard."

Debbie's eyes are shiny now, and she turns her head away. Ruth knows the gesture so well, how she's trying to hide and process her feelings at the same time. 

"Of course, nobody's fucking listening to me, and none of the men we work with care about my opinion. And Bash is… He's been a mess, so nothing new there, I guess."

Ruth squeezes her hand. 

"I didn't ask you because I felt sorry for you. I guess I asked you because I knew I was probably going to feel sorry for myself, somewhere down the line. But your dream is different from mine, I get that now. I won't stand in the way of it."

It's Ruth's turn to blink away moisture in her eyes. 

"Thank you…"

They look at each other and smile. Ruth can't believe they're having this rational, calm conversation. Maybe resolving the sexual tension could resolve other tensions too.

"So, can we talk about what… this is?"

Ruth is painfully aware that it can never just be about sex with Debbie, as good as it is. There are so many layers of emotions between them, Ruth wouldn’t have any idea how to separate their emotional connection from their physical one. 

Debbie takes a deep breath, like she wants to get it out before she changes her mind.

”I think I have feelings for you, and I know it’s crazy, with our history, but can we keep doing this and see where it goes?” 

”OK.”

"OK?"

"So, we're… dating?" Ruth asks, trying not to grin like an idiot. 

"Yeah. I mean, unless you don't feel…?"

She crawls over to Debbie and wraps her arms around her. 

"I feel. Absolutely. I totally feel."

She does. She probably always has. 

Debbie's shirt ends up on the floor.

***

Ruth mumbles a _sorry_ to Barbara as she walks in, five minutes late. Again. She knows she'll have to do better; it's not fair to her co-workers. But she got distracted that morning. Again. 

Charlie looks up at the clock with a comically exaggerated gesture.

"Sorry I'm late. Spent the night at my girlfriend's place. You know how that goes."

She winks at him.


	3. Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth auditions for an important part.

It's been a ridiculously frustrating morning, and since she worked last weekend, Debbie decides to make this Friday an early one. 

"Why don't you take the rest of the day off?" she says to her secretary on the way out, congratulating herself in the elevator mirror on being Boss of the Year. She wasn't exaggerating when she told Ruth her job was hard but being in charge still had perks. 

Her house has felt a lot more like a home lately. Maybe home isn't a where, but a "who". She finds Ruth cross-legged on the carpet of the living room floor with a script in her lap. Her face is a deep frown of concentration. She's in a boxy t-shirt, a little too wide for her narrow shoulders and worn gym shorts riding low on her hips. She has no fashion sense, and Debbie has no idea why she finds that so endearing. She's so fucking cute, and sometimes she marvels at her own stupidity for taking so long to figure out how she feels about her. The first time they slept together, something clicked into place, and Debbie connected not only with Ruth, but with her own body in a way she never had before. It was a revelation. 

She isn’t the least bit surprised to see her: since this thing started, Ruth’s spent so much time at her place, she might as well be living there. Debbie doesn’t mention that it’s much further to the restaurant because she really doesn’t want to make Ruth self-conscious about it and stop coming over all the time. She gave Ruth a key last week. It made sense: they were always key buddies before and they have such different schedules, so Ruth needs to be able to let herself in and out or it won’t work. Debbie tried not to make a big deal out of it, since it’s probably too early in the relationship to give your lover a key, so she says "key buddies" again. Judging by the look on Ruth’s face and the kiss that followed, it might as well have been a wedding ring; it didn't matter what she called it. 

It’s the most random things that make Debbie want her. Like now, watching her run lines for her LA Law audition, in her unflattering shorts and threadbare t-shirt, Ruth is irresistible. 

”Hey.”

Ruth looks so damn happy, like Debbie showing up just made her day. She kicks off her heels and walks over to her, looking over her shoulder. 

”Those your sides?”

She’s very careful to use a neutral tone. She knows the subject of Ruth’s acting career is still a minefield between them. She's upset that Ruth doesn't want to join her at the network, but she knows for this relationship to work, she has to be more sensitive to what Ruth needs. If this is her dream, she knows it's her job to try to make it happen.

She flicks through the pages. The scene is ridiculous, but she's had way worse than this on Paradise Cove, both before and after Laura Morgan ended up in a coma. 

She's pleasantly surprised when Ruth asks her to run lines with her for the audition, but she tries not to let that show on her face. She kind of wants to give "Jake" a southern accent when she reads, but she resists. She doesn't want Ruth to think she's making fun of her, or of the whole exercise. She flicks through the sides and frowns. 

"In a just world, they would let you read for Angelina."

The cheeky bartender is obviously the better role, and she can kind of hear Ruth deliver those lines. 

Ruth looks at her in confusion.

"But she's..."

"What?"

"Jake calls her 'the hot bartender'. I'm..." she sighs. " _Real_ … I guess. Not the kind of person they’d cast as the hot bartender."

Ruth is such a damn enigma sometimes. Wildly confident one moment, and just as convinced she's undesirable and unlovable the next. 

Debbie is the first one to acknowledge that Ruth can be a lot and a handful to work with. She cares too much, that’s the problem. Every drab secretary role is given the Hepburn treatment. But her lover’s intensity is the reason she’s so thrilling to be with. She doesn’t get why they don’t see it, or why Ruth puts herself through this degrading process again and again. But she’s careful to keep that last part to herself. 

Debbie will always pick Ruth: she always has, sometimes against her better judgement. 

Debbie smooths a lock of hair away from her forehead and when Ruth looks up at her, it’s not that Debbie wants to kiss her, it’s that she _needs_ to. It happens all the time: they're having a conversation, having breakfast, or sitting in the backyard and she's overcome with a need to touch her, like an ache in her palms. Even when she hated her, she kind of loved her.

Gently, she takes the script from her and puts it down. She looks into her eyes. 

”You have great legs. And the cutest ass. And honestly, you have amazing tits. I don’t know why you hide them in baggy clothes. And those stormy blue eyes...”

Ruth isn't wearing a bra under that oversized shirt. Debbie slides her hand in under the material and shapes it around her breast. She pushes the shirt up and takes her hard little nipple in her mouth. She lets go with a _pop_ and when she looks down at her, her chest is heaving, and her pupils are huge. She swirls it, still glistening with her saliva, with her fingertip, and Ruth lets out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan. She's so open with her desire, so vocal. Debbie loves that about her. All those years of stoically grunting men sweating on her, she has no idea why she put up with it, when she could have this. She kisses her, and Ruth impatiently pushes her tongue into her mouth, unafraid to be vulnerable and want things. Nothing turns her on like the look on Ruth's face when she touches her. 

"When's the audition?"

"Three hours."

She sounds impatient, like she couldn't care less about the audition, but Debbie knows how important it is and makes a note of the time. Because Debbie Eagan is working on herself.

She slides shorts and underwear down Ruth's hips and touches the glistening wet patch between her legs. She gets aroused easily. It makes Debbie feel like a goddess in the bedroom. She’s never asked if it’s only for her, or if she’s always been like that, and she doesn’t intend to. She likes thinking it’s just for her. Ruth gasps, and Debbie knows she could make her beg for release if she wanted to. She doesn't: knowing she could is enough of a turn-on.

She presses her lips against her sex and drags her flat tongue along her folds. The first time she went down on Ruth, she discovered it felt primal and hot and strangely familiar, like she’s always known how to do it. 

Her lips are covered in her arousal now, and she lets her tongue slide into her and relishes the response. She wants Ruth to walk into that audition filled with the confidence of being loved and desired. She takes her time, scraping her tongue over her hard tight little hill over and over. She smiles when Ruth whimpers softly and places a hand on the back of her neck. Debbie knows that prompt. Ruth is close and she can feel the tension building under her tongue and lips, and how Ruth subtly tries to increase the friction. She closes her lips around her clit and sucks it gently in that way she’s learned will make her race toward orgasm if she does it right. And there it is: that last, shuddering breath before Ruth tenses up and comes against her lips. It’s so hot: she can feel every breath, sigh, and moan in her own body. She’s far from over the excitement of what they're doing: how far they’ve gone into not-just-friends territory in such a short time. 

Ruth rolls over and into her arms when she crawls back up. After a few minutes, there's a curious hand on Debbie’s hip and she is so tempted. Tempted to let Ruth touch her and maybe be late for her audition, or tempted to go to the bathroom and finish herself off with fingers still warm from being inside of Ruth mere seconds ago, or maybe press them to her nose or lips while she comes with her scent in her nostrils or her warm, primal taste in her mouth. But she shakes her hand and pushes her hand away, gently. Because she’s working on herself.

"When you get back. It’ll give me something to look forward to."

Ruth smiles and kisses her in gratitude, and she’s such a good kisser, Debbie almost gives in to the hot, angry throbbing. She takes a deep breath and picks up the discarded script off the floor. 

They run the lines one more time, Ruth naked in Debbie’s arms on the soft carpet of the living room floor, before she has to shower and get dressed if she’s to leave before traffic gets too bad. Debbie gives her a quick peck on the cheek before she gets up.

"You've got this.”

Getting dressed, she holds up two shirts for Debbie to choose from. She’s finally been persuaded to abandon the mint green Escada. Debbie tries to be supportive; she really does. But she has to draw the line somewhere.

”Ruth… That’s the same shirt.”

”No! One has a shawl collar and the other is…” she trails off.

Debbie walks over and puts her arms around her.

”It’s the same shirt.”

Her lipstick is smudged in the corner of her mouth. Instead of pointing it out, Debbie pulls her close and kisses her. 

"Great. You've ruined my makeup."

But she smiles when she says it. Debbie picks up the lipstick and painstakingly reapplies, with straighter lines this time. She used makeup as a mask to hide behind for years; she's really good at it. 

"Which eye shadow?" 

She shakes her head and picks one of her own. She’s spent enough time looking into Ruth's eyes lately to know which shade will make them pop. 

Ruth looks in the mirror when she's done.

"Wow… I look… really good."

Ruth looks at her shirts again and frowns. 

"I still have to go with one of these, don't think I have anything else that works."

Debbie walks over to her own vast closet and rummages around until she finds it. It's midnight blue silk, just a few nuances darker than Ruth's eyes. It's not her size, of course. But even worn oversize, it looks great. 

"Can I... Do you mind?"

Ruth shakes her head, and Debbie runs her fingers, sticky with mousse, through her hair. A few sprays of Aquanet fix it in place. 

Looking pretty for the camera, that's what she used to do best, so why not use it to her lover’s advantage? Debbie doesn't want to step on her toes. She just wants to show her the Ruth _she_ sees: the restlessly graceful girl who made Debbie laugh out loud at almost everything she said in scene study class, with the beautiful chocolate hair not even her crap haircut could spoil, and the dark blue eyes Debbie always got lost in, and the full lips Ruth sometimes got ink on from chewing her pen. And then there was the woman who dominated the stage at the Fan-Tan, endlessly captivating to watch, strangely irresistible in her dark Zoya makeup and ridiculous hair, strong and lithe at the same time. If Debbie just helps her underline it a little, maybe they'll see what she sees. 

Ruth stares at herself in the mirror, and Debbie wraps her arms around her and looks over her shoulder, into her eyes. 

"You'll have to leave now, or I'll have to kiss you again."

”I really want you to.”

Debbie leans her cheek against Ruth’s temple.

”When you get back…”

She feels good about the person she sees. A good partner and a good friend, even if they are far from friends these days. She also looks unbearably sexually frustrated, but that’s a price she’s more than willing to pay. 

***

Walking down the hallway to the casting office, Ruth can still feel Debbie's lips and hands on her. The sated hum of her body feels like a form of intoxication. She hears her whispered "You’ve got this!" as she walks into a waiting room full of hopefuls. Some of them are young and pretty. Prettier than her, maybe, but she's not sure. She realizes she doesn't feel threatened by any of these ingenues and mannequins. 

Ruth smiles at the receptionist as she signs in. She's early as usual, so she runs to the bathroom for a quick look at herself in the mirror. She sees Debbie Eagan's lover looking back at her. Debbie is more beautiful and charismatic than any of the auditioning hopefuls. Right now, with the ghost of her lover's touch on her skin, and Debbie at home waiting for her to finish what they started, she feels like she is too. Her makeup and hair look great, but it's love that makes her face light up like this, she knows that. 

She even loses focus for a moment, while she waits. It's never happened before, that she leaves the nerves of the crowded room and the obsessive focus on her lines to go somewhere else in her head. Her new lover is always on her mind these days. 

When they call her name, she feels strangely calm.

"Hi. Ruth Wilder."

The casting director takes her headshot and resume and flicks through it. It's quick: it doesn't contain that much, after all. Ruth takes a breath and reminds herself that she and Debbie headlined a Vegas floorshow. The moment Debbie showed her their name on a marquee flashes through her memory. 

"Ready?"

She is. She's been ready for ten years. 

The casting director reads the male character like the conceited idiot he seems from the script. Ruth delivers her line with a minimum of Hepburn. She knows she needs to tone it down, but it's something she's struggled with her entire life. When she's asked to do it again and try something else, she adds just a hint of Zoya's attitude. Villains are her forte, after all. 

When she's done, the casting director looks at her and frowns.

"So, you were the lead in a wrestling show? With actual wrestling?"

"Yes. It was a very… rewarding experience, taught me a lot about myself as an actress."

Mostly how to mock capitalism in a fake Russian accent. And that she enjoyed getting body-slammed by her current girlfriend in very tight-fitting spandex more than she should have. 

"And this turned into a Vegas floorshow? You must have been pretty good."

She gives Ruth an incredulous once-over. Ruth finds herself standing a little taller. Sure, she's a small-statured woman, but she can throw someone bigger than her over her head and she kind of misses doing it. 

"I'd like to think we were, yes."

She braces for some derogatory comment about wrestling. Instead, the casting director mumbles something to her assistant, who nods.

"That's pretty impressive."

Ruth almost doesn't respond. "Impressive" isn't a word she hears frequently in auditions. When she finds her voice again, she sticks to a simple "Thank you".

"We’d like you to stick around and read for another part, if you have time. My assistant will get you the sides."

She considers not jumping up and down or yelling "YES!" to be one of her finest acting achievements. 

"I'd be happy to."

She takes the new pages and tries to look like this happens all the time when she walks back out. The role is a weepy housewife who's been cheated on by her husband, nowhere near a "hot bartender". But it's a _role_ , not just a line, and a _scene_. Four whole lines. Nothing compared to Zoya's endless monologues, but it's a whole scene all the same. 

She gets to do the scene a few times and try different things. She can’t help but think about how she gets more time than Justine and Sam gave her. The casting director even mumbles something appreciative at the end.

Walking out of that audition, she feels like if they asked her to come back in and fly around the room, she could have done it. 

A tall, blond Barbie doll of a woman is signing in just as she leaves, and Ruth thinks she's probably their choice for the hot bartender. She looks young, and Ruth thinks of Debbie when she first met her, so pathetically grateful when someone would talk to her and not just stare at her boobs.

"Break a leg!"

The girl looks surprised but smiles as she says thank you. 

***

Debbie hears the key and the door slams open. She can't tell if it's a good or a bad sound, but Ruth practically runs into her arms. 

"They had me read for another part."

"Which one?"

"One of the clients."

Ruth beams at her.

"It's a whole scene! Well, four lines. But it's a _scene._ "

"That's amazing Ruthie, I'm really happy for you."

Debbie knows this will only take Ruth further from the network. But still, in the few seconds she has for soul searching, she discovers that she's actually happy for her. 

"I almost don't care if I get it or not. It was just a great feeling, you know?"

Of course she cares, Debbie knows that. But she totally gets what she's talking about. As much as she hated Paradise Cove in the end, she still remembers the feeling when they called and told her she got the part: it was like champagne in her blood and all the colors were brighter for a few hours. 

Ruth knows exactly which drug she wants to get high on to celebrate. She walks into Debbie's arms, trying to get as close as possible. Sometimes, she feels like she can't get close enough. She presses her face against her skin and breathes her in. She's still in awe of the fact that she's the one who gets to undress her in the half light of their bedroom (it's already _their_ bedroom in her head) and she's the one who gets to slide her underwear down her sensational legs and kiss the curve above her hip bones, and she'll never not feel drunk from the sensation of it, she's sure of it. She cups her breasts, traces the delicate curve of her lower back down to her sensational ass, and listens to Debbie's breathing become ragged and needy.

Ruth captures Debbie's arms above her head and replaces her hands with her lips. She traces her strong jawline, and Debbie offers up her long neck for kissing. Sometimes, Ruth drags Debbie to bed just so she can lose herself in touching her and listening to the sounds she makes, her scent and how she tastes. She loves this pliable, soft Debbie who patiently lets her take what she needs from her, trying to make up for all those years of living side by side, suppressing their need for each other. At one point in her life, she thought she would never care about anything the way she cared about acting or her acting career. But she'll never have a role as exciting as Debra Eagan's lover. 

It's an impulse, but it feels right. Like there’s a right moment for it, and this is it, with a warm, relaxed post-climax Debbie in her arms, looking at her with sleepy eyes. This is the most important line she’ll ever audition with; Ruth knows that. 

"I love you."

It’s early in their relationship for a declaration of love. Maybe too early. But in fairness, she has loved Debbie for 10 years, so in some respects it’s pretty late.

Debbie becomes totally still and quiet for a few moments. 

”I love you too.”

She smiles like she doesn't think it's too soon at all. 

***

When Charlie wiggles his eyebrows and says, "Your _girlfriend_ is on the phone," drawing the word out in the hope of embarrassing her, Ruth is surprised. Debbie never calls her at work, especially not in the middle of the lunch rush. 

"You got it."

"What?"

For a moment, she forgot that she left both her own and Debbie's home numbers with the casting director and has no clue what she's talking about.

"You got the part, Ruthie!"

She wonders if she's misheard her.

"Are you serious? The secretary?"

"Not the secretary. Ruth… you got the client. You have to call them back right away.”

She’s quiet for a few seconds, breathing deeply, trying to get past the intense feeling of unreality. 

"Ruth? Are you still there?"

"Debbie?"

"Yeah...?"

"I love you."

She can hear Debbie smiling when she replies.

”I love you too.”

After she hangs up the phone, she goes to the bathroom and cries. She's been terrified that GLOW was just some anomaly and she'll never get to act in front of a camera again.

She goes up to the manager and forces herself to sound casual.

"I need a few days off next week. I got a part on LA Law, so…"

"Actually, Ruth, that's really inconvenient. But congratulations, I guess.”

"I'll ask Sarah if she can change shifts."

"Sure, you do that."

He sounds bored. It would take way more than four lines on LA Law to impress him, she knows that. But it doesn't matter: right here, right now, she feels like Katherine Hepburn. 

***

Debbie had to tell her three times that her outfit was fine, her hair was fine, she had everything she needed. She reminded her that nobody cared, since she would go straight to wardrobe when she got there. When Ruth kisses her goodbye, she feels calmer, like she's had an injection of confidence. 

A stressed PA drags her straight to a costume fitting, where Ruth learns that her character wears a lot of beige. In hair and makeup, she learns just how much makeup it takes to make someone look like they're not wearing makeup. Zoya's makeup had been less subtle. 

Ruth stands in her tiny, crammed trailer, for once grateful that she's short. She finds herself missing the dressing room at the Fan-Tan, the bustle of the girls around her. She misses Sheila’s acerbic remarks, and she even misses Cherry's muttering about how they should be in better shape. She misses Debbie especially, getting glitter and hairspray all over their stuff and taking up a little more space than she needs. A lot more. She would have given anything to be in this scene with her. It had taken time to admit it to herself, but Debbie made her a better actor.

The PA says she will be collected for her scene in a while, and Ruth knows she should probably nod and smile and stay in her trailer. 

"Is it OK if I hang out on set for a bit? I like to get a feel for the setup."

The PA looks at her with raised eyebrows, like she can't think of anything less interesting. 

"Sure, whatever. Just don't get in anybody's way, OK? And we won't have time to touch up your makeup or your hair, so try not to move too much."

She tries to be quiet and not touch her face or her hair, crisp with hairspray. It hadn't been an issue with Zoya: nobody expects your makeup to be perfect when you're throwing people around in the ring. And she had been one of the leads: there was plenty of time to touch up her makeup. She sneaks onto the soundstage. It's certainly more impressive than the GLOW set, but that's not saying much. They're filming, and she tries to be absolutely quiet and still as she watches. 

She frowns when she looks at the cameras. _Is that really right for this scene? How can the director not go for a different setup? Or even just another angle. This is… boring._ She had asked Russell a ton of questions about cinematography, and he had patiently explained what works and what doesn’t. He was good at his job, and Ruth remembers him saying she had a good eye. 

She flinches at the brusque sound of the director yelling at a regular member of the cast. Ruth sees a shadow of annoyance on her face, quickly replaced by a bland, agreeable mask. She remembers the first time Debbie told her about getting in trouble for questioning her director on Paradise Cove. She had showed up at Ruth's place, unannounced, her jaw clenched and her eyes dark. She’d started knocking back whiskey and Coke, and Ruth had tried to be supportive and also stop her from showing up on set horribly hungover the next day, making it worse. She’d failed and they’d ended up in some improvised karaoke situation and collapsed on the couch together, laughing hysterically at something, and Ruth remembered thinking briefly in her drunken state that Debbie was going to kiss her. Maybe she almost had. Ruth remembers how she had almost asked her to.

They’re moving on to Ruth’s scene, and she feels the anticipation flutter in her stomach. She hasn’t done this in so long, but she’s done a lot of thinking about her character and why she’s in the main character's office, so she feels confident she can deliver an interesting performance.

"Annoying client? Where is the annoying client?"

Ruth realizes the director is talking to _her_. Really? Annoying? This character has had her life torn apart and Ruth thinks she's holding together quite well, under the circumstances. She almost says something sarcastic but remembers where she is, settling for a fake smile and a bright "Here!"

He introduces himself, and something in his gruff manner reminds her of Sam. 

"I always like to make sure my actors keep this as real as possible. And remember, you're pretty impressed with this guy. OK?"

Ruth has no idea what he's talking about. She glances at the male lead playing her lawyer, but his face tells her nothing about how he's feeling. Impressed by what? The mere existence of him? 

A seam of her outfit is chafing. The blindingly bright lights hurt her eyes. But she's ready. She’s baffled by the blocking, but she doesn’t say anything. As she walks into the scene, the director stops her right away. He mumbles something to his assistant, who shakes his head. The series regular she's doing the scene with looks annoyed already, and she has the paranoid thought that _she's_ the one who annoyed him, even though she hasn't said or done anything yet. She hates that she can't hear what they're saying. They make her enter again and it throws her, even though it shouldn't have. She tries to find her focus. How different this feels compared to GLOW, where her only job was to dominate the stage and taunt Liberty Belle or Welfare Queen, and whatever ad libs she came up with would be fine. 

Finally, she gets to deliver the lines that have been churning over and over in her head since she was cast: a desperate plea of a devastated woman. The director frowns.

”Can you be… more _present_ , but a little less intense? Less grating?”

Grating? She’s playing a woman in pain, someone who had lost everything in a matter of days. 

They do the scene again, and Ruth tries to keep it exactly like she played it during her audition, since that's what got her the job. 

”Maybe little less histrionics?”

Her jaw clenches around the answer, but she doesn't say anything. After the third take, the director says nothing about whether he liked it or not, which somehow manages to feel worse than the barrage of negative comments. He yells out, “Let’s move on,” and Ruth sits down during the break, anger churning inside her, upsetting her stomach. 

Someone puts a hand on her shoulder. 

”Never mind him, he’s a total asshole. Everyone hates him.”

Ruth turns around and sees a woman who looks vaguely familiar. It takes her a few moments to identify her as one of the minor, recurring characters on the show. She smiles gratefully at her. 

"He's like that with all dayplayers."

Another guy who just walked onto the set nods cheerfully. 

Hours later, after doing take after take and then reset for closeups, Ruth has no idea if she's doing a good job or not. She's been yelled at, ignored, and then yelled at again, and stressed out by vague directions that gave her no clue about what was expected of her. Judging by the other actors' demeanor, there is nothing unusual about it. She wants to laugh at how she once thought Sam Sylvia was hard to work with. Or Bash. She feels exhausted, and she's had a tenth of the lines she had during a typical night of playing Zoya. 

During lunch, she talks to several actors, more successful than her, who make a modest living doing bit parts, a line here and there on long-running shows or commercials. Somewhere along the line, they seem to have lost their ambition to do more than that and claim to be happy with it. 

It occurs to her that in her struggle to get to do what she loves and make it as an actor, getting stuck on some lower rung of the ladder indefinitely hadn't been on her radar. If that were her life, four lines on LA Law per season and maybe an actual, real toothpaste commercial, would she be happy with that? Would she be content going to scene study class and dream of doing The Cherry Orchard? 

At the end of the day, she looks at herself in the mirror as she removes her thick, sticky makeup. She gets now what Debbie tried to do for her. Her lover had definitely been condescending when she suggested Ruth come to work with her at the network. But Ruth finally understands what she was trying to give her: not just a job, but agency. At the end of this day, she understands the full value of that gift. This is why Debbie elbowed her way up to be a producer and decided to become Tex instead of marrying him. She even gets why she left Paradise Cove, a decision that seemed incomprehensible to Ruth at the time, unemployed, poor, and frustrated. 

Debbie’s question on the night they first kissed suddenly seems pertinent. Why is she really doing this? 

When she gets home, exhausted, Debbie's waiting up for her, and Ruth can tell from her face she's expecting her to gush about the experience, tell her how great it's been. This is her thing, after all. She tries putting on a brave face, smiling a little too much. Unfortunately, Debbie knows her, better than anyone. 

"Are you OK? You seem a little… Did something happen"

”It was fine. I’m just tired.”

She curls up against Debbie in front of the TV, and she can see from the frown on her forehead that she doesn’t buy it, but mercifully, she doesn’t ask again. Ruth presses her cheek against her shoulder, so Debbie can’t see her face. She used to have this wall calendar, with quotes. June was Oscar Wilde: ”When the gods want to punish you, they answer your prayers.” She knows what it means now.


	4. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth says something.

Her hands are clammy as she picks up the corkscrew. Maybe the wine is a dumb idea, it’s not like this is date night. It’s the opposite, almost. She has no idea how Debbie will react, and she’s not even sure she has the right to use the social lubrication of alcohol for this. She doesn’t deserve to make this easier on herself.

She almost doesn’t go through with it. Debbie comes home and looks at the open bottle. It was a good wine, more expensive than she would normally buy.

”Are we celebrating something?”

Ruth swears internally. She really, really wishes they were celebrating something.

Debbie wraps her arms around her and smiles. She kisses her and nuzzles her cheek when she breaks the kiss, along with Ruth’s heart. Debbie is soft with her in a way she knows she isn’t with other people, and Ruth is terrified to lose it. Sometimes it scares her a little how hard she's fallen for her. 

But she can’t live with a web of lies she has to keep spinning.

She busies herself with pouring wine and takes longer than she needs, so she won’t have to open her mouth or look into Debbie’s eyes. 

She sits down, primly, on the edge of the couch with a visible distance between them. Normally, she would want to be as close to Debbie as possible. 

”I have to tell you something.”

She can see Debbie’s face change, muscle by muscle, almost. Gradually, the soft smile morphs into a neutral mask. Like back when Debbie hated her or pretended to hate her; she’s not sure which, and she doesn’t think Debbie knows either. Even their hate always looked a lot like love. 

She gets it: none of the secrets between them have been good ones. Except maybe the one about them being madly in love.

She takes a deep breath, but it makes her chest hurt, so she stops. Her hand feels unsteady when she lifts the wineglass. She takes a sip, just to put off the inevitable a few more minutes.

Debbie moves and the creaking of the leather sofa is the only sound in the room. She won’t look at her and Ruth gets why. 

”Jesus, Ruth… Just tell me. Are you breaking up with me?”

Ruth puts the glass down so abruptly it almost breaks.

”Of course I’m not _breaking up_ with you, how can you ask that?”

How can her lover think that, after last night? After they fell asleep exhausted in each other’s arms? Ruth said ”I love you” for the first time a week ago.

”I had an abortion.”

Debbie looks surprised, but not shocked. At first. Then it sinks in whose baby Ruth is talking about. She's perfectly still for a few moments. 

"My best friend aborted my husband’s child. Wow."

Her voice is unsteady.

”Does Mark know about this?”

”No. I mean, Sam knows, but not Mark.”

”Fucking _Sam_ knows? That’s just great.”

Ruth has a sinking feeling in her stomach that she is handling this in the worst possible way. She should have known Debbie would hate that Sam knew before she did. No one brought out Debbie's jealous side like Sam Sylvia. 

”I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us.”

Ruth puts her hand on Debbie’s arm, but she shrugs it off. 

”You don’t want to hurt me? Funny, because you keep doing it. I guess I should be grateful we’re having this conversation in person. Maybe I should call you so you can ignore me or pretend everything is fucking _fine_ again?”

Debbie stands up with an angry, jerky motion. 

"You know what? Since we're having it all out, you've never really told me why you slept with my husband."

"Debbie… Please, can we not…"

"Why did you sleep with Mark, Ruth? Why did you?”

Debbie stares at her, coldly. 

"How much longer are you going to punish me for this? _Haven't I served my term? Can't I apply for a pardon?_ "

She knows as soon as she's said it that it was a mistake. She felt so much like Maggie the cat in this moment, the lines just poured out of her. 

She can see the anger welling up in Debbie before she opens her mouth. 

"Can you fucking stop reciting lines from _goddamn scene study class?_ This is life, not the Omaha Amateur Dramatic Society!"

Ruth stared at her, slack jawed. It was so unnecessarily hurtful.

"I think I liked it better when you broke my bones."

”I liked it better when I thought you were smart enough to use protection when you _fucked my husband_! _Twice_!”

She had forgotten how scary Debbie is when she's angry, her rage a force of nature. 

" _JUST TELL ME WHY YOU FUCKED MY HUSBAND!_ "

Ruth doesn't mean to say it, she had intended to keep that information to herself, but Debbie awakens something in her, something ugly and wounded, that will out. 

"Maybe to hurt you the way you hurt me when you married Mark!"

She slaps her hand over her mouth and stares at Debbie. This wasn't the confession she intended to make.

There are a few, eternal seconds of silence, where Debbie stares at her. Her lower lip is trembling, and Ruth has no idea whether it's from rage or hurt. Maybe both, and she already hates herself for saying it. 

When Debbie turns and walks out, she slams the door so hard Ruth hears their wine glasses clink against each other on the coffee table. She listens to the engine of Debbie’s car roar off.

This is Debbie's home. It hadn't even occurred to Ruth that she might leave her here, alone. She sinks to the kitchen floor. The tiles are cold against her legs and the kitchen cabinet door unforgivingly hard against her back. But none of that compares to the pain in her heart from seeing the look on Debbie's face when she told her.

She's not sure how long she sits there crying. Long enough for her cheeks to ache from the salt in her tears. Long enough for it to get dark outside and for her joints to complain when she stands up. It feels unreal that she and Debbie could be over before they even started. They haven’t been together for long, but she already feels like she would barely survive if Debbie left her. She isn’t the same person now that she was before Debbie kissed her for the first time.

She sits on the couch, with her knees pressed against her chest, trying to be small enough to disappear. She thinks about turning on the TV or record player, but she knows she won't be able to focus. So, she sits in near silence and listens to the soft sound of the clock ticking. Maybe Debbie expects her to go, but there’s no way Ruth is leaving things like this between them. She can’t bear to get home and hear Debbie break up with her over the answering machine.

When she hears the door, she stands up, ready for more screaming or for Debbie to tell her it’s over in that voice she used when she told her she never wanted to see her again when she heard about Mark. 

Debbie barely takes the time to close the door behind her. Her car keys clang against the floor when they fall out of her pocket, but she doesn't stop to pick them up.

Her soft whisper seems loud in the quiet room as she cups Ruth’s face.

"Maybe I did marry Mark to hurt you."

Her voice breaks, and her eyes show Ruth she's not the only one who has been crying these last hours. Ruth grabs her lapel so hard her knuckles are white as she pulls her down and kisses her. Debbie’s hand fists in Ruth’s sweatshirt and she wants to tell her she adores her and can’t live without her, but instead she obediently lifts her arms so it can come off, as they stumble back against the couch. Debbie falls to her knees and unbuttons Ruth’s jeans, pulling them and her underwear down in one rough motion, her nails digging into the small of Ruth's back. Debbie yanks her to the edge of the seat and pulls one of her legs over her shoulder. Ruth gasps as she slides her hot, impatient tongue into her. She pushes her hips unabashedly against her mouth and groans. Debbie’s intensity makes Ruth burn for her. She forgets all the pain and fear as Debbie’s lips and tongue coaxes her to climax, her name the only sound in her head as she screams out her orgasm. 

She lays down, exhausted. Debbie follows, and Ruth pulls her close and makes her put her entire weight on her.

”Am I too heavy?”

Debbie whispers it against her neck between kisses and Ruth grinds out a _no._ She needs her to be heavy, to feel how they’re solid and real together. 

"Mark never made me feel like you do."

Debbie's breath is hot against her neck as she whispers it, and Ruth’s nails dig into Debbie’s strong shoulder as she leaves an angry mark on Ruth’s skin, re-staking her claim. Ruth groans as Debbie soothes it with her tongue, and she answers breathlessly.

"You're the best lover I've ever had."

Debbie rolls off her, and Ruth takes a hard nipple in her mouth and pushes her fingers into her. Her lover is soaked and grinds impatiently against the heel of Ruth's hand. She's much rougher than she's been before, but Debbie moans in appreciation. She looks into her eyes and Ruth sees how the pain is gone and only desire remains. She’s tense and restless under her touch, and Ruth feels her get closer. Debbie bites her lower lip before moaning into her mouth as they kiss through her climax. The subtle sting sends tingles down Ruth's spine and she shivers against Debbie as she feels the old pain being exorcised.

When it's over, Ruth is sweaty and sticky with arousal, but she doesn’t want to move. She loves the way post-coital Debbie is thrown over her like a comforting blanket. She strokes her back soothingly as Debbie’s breathing calms down and evens out.

There’s a question that needs to be asked.

”Debbie…?”

”Mmhm?”

”Did you… Did you do it on purpose?”

Debbie doesn’t pretend she doesn’t know what Ruth is talking about.

”Honestly?”

”Yes. Honestly. I can take it, I promise.”

”I don’t know. I used to think it was an accident, but looking back, I’m not sure. I was high when I did it. I did some of Sam’s coke and had no business going into the ring.”

Ruth cups her cheek. 

”Hey… It’s OK. Even if you did it on purpose, it’s OK. I'm fine."

"Really…?”

”Really.”

Debbie smiles a sad smile. 

"You've taught me so much about myself that I didn't want to know. The way I felt about you scared the shit out of me. I guess I thought I could make those feelings go away if I married Mark. If I scared you off, I could stop loving you."

She takes Ruth's hand and kisses it. 

It’s scary to show her lover all of her weaknesses and bleeding wounds, but Ruth knows there are other truths Debbie deserves to know. 

”I resented you for giving up your acting career. You had the thing I wanted most in the world, and you just gave it up. It felt like you gave up on us. Like you quit me when you married Mark, not just our dreams.”

"I did. Or at least I tried to." 

Debbie looks up at her. 

”Can we stop… hurting each other now?” 

Ruth takes a shuddering breath and nods. 

"Is it OK if we never talk about this again?"

"Yeah, that would really work for me."

"So, we're good?"

"I need you to never lie to me again.”

"I promise."

She does. Both to Debbie and herself.

Ruth looks deep into her eyes.

"If the baby had been yours, I would have kept it."

She buries her face in the crook of Debbie’s neck and breathes her in. She feels moisture on her cheek and looks up and sees Debbie crying. She brushes the tears away with the back of her hand and Debbie pulls her closer.

"I really love you, Ruthie.”

Ruth jerks awake in the middle of the night, her chest sticky with sweat from lying so close to Debbie for so long. Her neck is stiff and her hip aches from the awkward angle on the narrow couch. She strokes Debbie's arm gently to wake her up. She grumbles but follows her to the bedroom. Ruth loves it when she slips her hand in hers. Maybe they really are OK. 

"Urgh, that goddamned couch. So uncomfortable."

Debbie's neck makes a popping noise when she turns her head.

"Yeah, it's pretty hard."

"We should get another one, I hate it."

_We…_

When Debbie talks about this place as if they both live there, Ruth can't help herself: she gets all sorts of ideas. 

***

When Ruth wakes up, Debbie's not in bed anymore, and for a moment, her heart races in discomfort. 

She pads out into the kitchen and inhales the smell of coffee. Debbie is leaned against the counter, smiling despite her tired eyes. She opens her arms and Ruth can breathe again. They _fit_ together, seamlessly. Debbie touches the mark she left on Ruth's neck. 

"Sorry…"

"I didn't mind."

She didn't. Bruises were a small price to pay for mending the heart of the woman she loved. 

They’re quiet for a while. Debbie rests her cheek against the crown of Ruth’s head, and Ruth listens to the _dripdripdrip_ of the coffee maker and the comforting beat of Debbie’s heart.

”I would have your baby in a heartbeat.” Debbie’s voice is soft.

It's Ruth's turn to cry now. She presses her face into the silk of Debbie’s robe and leaves a wet patch there, while Debbie patiently strokes her hair.

”Ruth…?”

”Yeah?”

”That was the last secret, right?”

”There might be one more…”

She looks up at Debbie’s face and sees the little frown of worry.

"I think I've loved you since that first day in scene study class."

Debbie stares at her, wide-eyed. 

”Since we’re being honest.”

”Honesty is good.”

"Yeah."

She relaxes into Debbie’s arms again, where she belongs.


	5. The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie does something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: high sugar content.

The first time Ruth sees The House, it's by pure accident. She's distracted and takes a wrong turn and by the time she realizes she's ended up in Silver Lake, it’s too late. She doesn't know Silver Lake very well and takes several more wrong turns before she ends up on the street with The House. It's beautiful and calm and green. A little overgrown. Almost at the end of the block, it's painted a strange green color, sage maybe. The fence is uneven and obviously should have been fixed long before it got to this state. There are windchimes dangling from a worn piece of rope next to the front door. She smiles. Debbie _hates_ windchimes and she imagines her acerbic takedown of a person who puts windchimes up.

There's a "for sale" sign right next to the mailbox. Ruth surprises herself with an intense, instant longing to live here. For this to be not just a weird green house at the end of a slightly unkempt Silver Lake street, but for it to be _her_ weird green house at the end of a slightly unkempt Silver Lake street. 

She stays there for several minutes, looking at the house and hoping none of the neighbors see her and thinks she’s a weirdo. Maybe she’s not staring at a house, as much as staring at a life. Being with Debbie has put all sorts of dreams in her head about how she deserves better than her shitty little apartment and waiting tables. 

***

The following week, they're on their way back to Debbie's place when Ruth realizes that Silver Lake isn't that far out of their way. She hasn't been able to stop thinking about the house, and she just wants to know if it's still on the market. She's already been back to see it once, and she knows it's stupid, it's not like she'll be able to afford a house any time soon. Not ever, maybe. 

”I just want to take a little detour; it won’t be long.”

She stops on that quiet little street again. There's still a "for sale" sign in the yard.

Debbie looks surprised. 

"Whose house is this?”

”I don’t know.”

”So… what are we looking at?”

”Just a house I like. I wanted to see if it was still on the market. It’s stupid. Sorry, we should go.”

***

Debbie has no idea why she commits the name of the street to memory and drives back there. Maybe she’s just curious about what Ruth’s dream house looks like; she can’t really explain it to herself. 

An older woman with long wild white hair and a home rolled cigarette in her mouth opens the door and looks at her.

"Hey, princess. You here to see the house?"

Is she? Debbie stares at her. Maybe she is.

She clears her throat.

"Yeah. I'm… here for the house."

The woman takes a puff on her cigarette and looks at Debbie with an amused smile. 

"Wouldn't have thought this was your kind of neighborhood."

Debbie bristles immediately, then takes a second look and thinks maybe she’s one of those old ladies who’s stopped caring about what other people think. She fully intends to be one of them one day herself, so she relaxes. 

"Guess that goes to show what you know, doesn't it?”

She is trying to be less waspish when she feels cornered, but that doesn't mean she always succeeds. 

The old woman cackles, like Debbie said something delightfully funny.

"OK, let's do it."

The decorating is terrible, and the house is messy. But she has to admit to herself it's cozy and inviting. The living room has an old brown couch that looks weirdly like a hand, for some reason.

"The things that thing has seen…"

Debbie holds a hand up.

"Don't tell me."

The woman laughs again, like Debbie’s zingers are feats of great comedy. 

”I’m Jean, by the way.”

”Debbie.”

”Do you want to see the bedroom?”

She finds that she really does.

That too, is cozy, with a big, messy double bed and some weird psychedelic art on the wall. The earth tones are so different from her own tidy white bedroom. They move on, and the next room is total chaos, an explosion of paint and art supplies. 

"I'm an artist, but you probably guessed that by now. This is my studio; the light is really nice in the mornings. "

Debbie might not know much about art, but the pieces scattered around the room are pretty good, in her unqualified opinion. She sees Randy there, playing on the floor. Might not even be cleaner than it is now, he's going through a messy phase and there’s this whole thing with finger paints. There are two additional bedrooms with the same eccentric sense of interior decorating. One has some sort of big-penised wooden fertility god leaned against the wall.

"Come on, let's see the back yard." 

It's a surprisingly big, fenced-in area. It's just as overgrown as it looks from the outside, but beautiful in a jungle-like way. Debbie sees them there. She sees herself on a lounge chair on that weathered old patio and Ruth reading a script under that big old fig tree. She sees Ruth getting sunburned, since she's pale but still forgets to use sunscreen. She sees them in a hammock, holding hands, maybe growing old together, birdwatching or whatever the fuck you're supposed to do when you're old and wrinkly. 

"The neighbors are called David and David, friends of Dorothy, but they’re lovely.”

This house isn't Debbie's style at all. It's a weird color that needs to be repainted, the patio is a mess and the fence is wonky. It's totally in the wrong area. But it looks like a home. And maybe Debbie Eagan hasn’t had a home in a really long time. 

***

A few weeks later, she walks into her soulless house with the uncomfortable white couch. She squeezes the keychain in her pocket with the worn crocheted rainbow, and the rubber marijuana leaf and the two house keys, one of which mysteriously says "Marnie" in red nail polish. She keeps it in her hand as she hangs her jacket and kicks her shoes off. 

Ruth looks up from her book and smiles as she walks into the living room. Debbie glances at the moving boxes lining the wall and thinks that maybe there was a reason she never unpacked them. Again, she thinks that maybe home isn't a where, but a who.

She drops the keychain on the coffee table. 

"Move in with me?”

***

The heat falls like an angry caress on her sweaty brow. Ruth wipes her forehead with her hand and discovers when she's back in the car how ink from the plastic bag transferred to her hands and left a black smudge that won't come off. She's sweaty, thirsty, and testy. At least Debbie's car has air conditioning. She makes a noise of pleasure when the cool breeze hits her. Moving during a heat wave was a terrible idea. But she didn't want to wait one more day for her new life to begin.

Debbie has roughly ten times as much stuff as Ruth. The walk-in closet will be 90% Debbie. She knew she was of no use unpacking Debbie’s boxes, so she volunteered to shop for essential supplies. She regretted it as she felt sweat trickle down her back when she hauled the heavy bags to the car. 

She calls out for Debbie when she gets back, but no reply. The house is quiet, boxes still not unpacked, so she goes to look for her in the yard. It feels surreal that she has a backyard now, after spending 10 years in barely habitable shitholes. The grass is emerald in the bright sun. There are some weird red flowers in one corner; neither of them knows what they are, but they’re beautiful. A butterfly comes and sits on one, with bright orange wings and black edges. Its antennae twitch in delight as it crawls closer to the flower. It's a Monarch. She knows this because she had to mention one in a line for an audition once and looked it up, for authenticity. She still didn't get the part. 

There's a familiar silhouette in the shade of the big fig tree in the corner. She drinks in the soft curves and feels her heart beating faster. She caresses her sharp cheekbones with her eyes. The perfect arch of her eyebrows, the bold curve of her nose. The long, fine strands of her eyelashes. She watches her chest rhythmically rise and fall and the pulse moving under the silky skin of her long neck. She wants to kiss her parted lips, but she also doesn't want to wake her. 

She should probably be angry. Debbie was supposed to be working while she was away. But she can't. How can she be angry when this is her lover? And this is their house. This gorgeous, strange, wild, perfect woman and this sage green house, with its overgrown yard and wonky fence, is hers. 

Ruth has to sit down, suddenly short of breath. It might be the abundance of pollen in the air, but most likely, it's the feeling of unreality. Ruth Wilder doesn't get what she wants, she never has before. She's always _wanted_ , it's who she is. And now she _has._

There’s a fig in Debbie’s hand, resting on her chest; she obviously fell asleep just before eating it. Ruth gently eases it out of sleeping Eve's hand and takes a bite. It's warm, but delightfully ripe and sweet. She rolls over and bites into it again. She spills some on her t-shirt, but she doesn't care. 

Debbie stirs and mumbles something. 

"Hey… That's mine."

Debbie's still half asleep when she says it. She yawns and stretches, and Ruth has no defense against the overwhelming tenderness she evokes, doing the most trivial things. And she wants her. She always wants her. Debbie is breathtakingly, unrealistically beautiful, and sometimes it still overwhelms her.

"You forfeited it when you took a nap instead of unpacking our boxes, _Debra._ ”

She kisses her with sticky lips. Debbie kisses her back, lazily.

"God, Ruth… Too hot for sex."

She mumbles it between kisses.

"Oh, I know."

She does. There’s no way she could find the energy. But still, she wants her.

There's a beautiful green caterpillar crawling up Debbie's shoulder. Ruth picks it up and gently puts it back on the ground. She gets why it wants to be close to Debbie, she does too. 

"Do you want to go back inside?"

"No. I want to lie under this tree and look at our house."

Debbie cocks her eyebrow.

”What about the boxes, Ruth?” she says teasingly, knowing that Ruth doesn't want to go back to work any more than she does. 

She curls her pinky finger around Ruth’s. It’s too hot for anything else.

”I want a nap. And then I want to have a cold shower and then christen our new bed. And maybe the couch.”

Debbie smiles.

”Jesus, Ruth. That’s a lot of exercise for such a hot day.”

”Is that a no?”

Ruth pouts and Debbie rolls her eyes.

”I didn’t say that.”

”Good.”

"I guess we'll have to do something about this yard."

"I think this yard and everything in it is perfect."

She looks up at the branches over their head.

"Are we sure there's not a snake in that tree?"

"What are you talking about?"

”Nothing.”

”OK.”

"Ruthie?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

Debbie closes her eyes again, and Ruth follows, the remains of the fig rolling out of her hand.

***

Debbie gets flannel pajamas, and the silk nightgowns she wore for the men in her life end up at the back of the closet. It's too hot to wear to bed in LA, but Debbie wears the pajama bottoms around the house, and she steals Ruth’s worn old t-shirt when it's too hot for the heavy top. It’s oversize on Ruth, but the way it hangs on Debbie makes her mouth water. 

The first time she sees her like that, Debbie is making breakfast, barefoot in front of the stove, hair in a messy bun. Ruth doesn’t think she has ever wanted her more. She walks over and pushes the pan away from the heat and fumbles for the off switch as she pushes her up against her countertop and kisses her.

Later, when they actually get to breakfast, Debbie glances up from her morning paper in Ruth's direction. She sees her staring into thin air with a frown on her face. She puts her hand out, palm up, and Ruth entangles their fingers absentmindedly. Debbie can feel it when they touch: there's something going on in that busy brain of Ruth's. 

"Babe…?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember when you said that maybe it took you awhile to figure out how maybe you didn't want to be _with_ Tex, so much as you wanted to _be_ Tex?"

"Sure."

"Maybe I wanted to be Sam. I don't remember why I thought I had romantic feelings for him. Maybe I was in love with the idea of being that free, and not in love with _him_."

Debbie is surprised by the conversation. She doesn't particularly like talking about Ruth's possible feelings for Sam Sylvia. But she knew Ruth was even less fond of talking about Debbie's former lovers. 

"Good. I didn't enjoy your 'Sam phase'. He's an ass."

She squeezes Ruth's hand to take the sting out of the words. Sam Sylvia had been even more disrespectful of Ruth's acting ambitions than she had. 

"Debbie? That offer…"

Debbie doesn't insult her by pretending she doesn't know what she's talking about. 

"Yeah.?"

"Does it… still stand?"

"Mmmhm. Sure."

She's trying too hard to be casual, she can hear it. She tries to keep her hand still in Ruth's and not reveal now excited she is by that particular question.

"Then I… I accept."

Debbie tries so hard not to smile. She doesn't whoop or take Ruth in her arms.

"Good."

She's terrified anything but "good" would sound like gloating. She glances at her lover. She's smiling, but Debbie keeps her face in check, even though her heart is racing. She wants this so much: for the two of them to conquer the world together. She wasn't joking when she said she wanted to build them an Eden.

That evening, Debbie falls asleep on the lounge chair on the worn porch. Ruth is reading a play under the fig tree and actually remembered to use sunscreen this time, mostly because Debbie bought a more expensive brand than she would, and she likes the way it smells on her. She’s not sure why Debbie is adamant that they need a hammock for their new house, but she really likes the idea.


	6. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth has a complicated relationship with Joni Mitchell.

Ruth pours herself a glass of wine and flicks through the record collection. The wine is good, way better than the three-dollar stuff she used to get from the corner store when it was all she could afford. She hesitates but chooses the blue album cover anyway. It's been ages. She listened to it obsessively back in theatre school.

_Ruth carefully put the record down on Donna's crappy turntable and hummed along to the first verse. She was supposed to be learning her lines for the end-of-term production of The Cherry Orchard. She was still upset she didn't get cast as Varya, but she's pretending it's fine. She could totally do something with The Stranger. Absolutely. Debbie had way more work to do anyway, since she was Anya. Debbie was always the lead. Ruth would help her with her lines — as always._

_For some reason, she sat down on the floor in front of the turntable and stared into thin air instead. Gary. That was his name. Tall, dark, handsome. If you were into that sort of thing. Ruth liked her men with a personality, so no thank you to Gary. She had no idea why Debbie agreed to go out with him. Or maybe she did. Tall, handsome. Sometimes that seemed to be enough for Debbie. Ruth didn't understand it. Debbie was beautiful, built like other girls wish they were. Her eyes changed like they couldn't decide what color they were. Her bone structure was to die for and gave her face way more character than the other pretty girls in their class. And men couldn't stop staring down her cleavage. It was annoying, but it's not like Ruth didn't get why they did it. Debbie's gorgeous. Yesterday, she’d spent half of a boring scene study class tracing the shell of her ear with her eyes. Even that was a perfect, elegant curve. But it wasn’t even about that. Unlike Gary, Debbie had a personality. Character. That's why Ruth felt like this. This… Blue. It was about Gary and how Debbie could do better._

_Debbie, who was an ache in Ruth’s chest and the saddest song on a Joni Mitchell album, and she didn’t know why._

_Debbie got ready here, at her apartment. She did that sometimes, she said it gave them time to hang out. Ruth's roommate was almost never home, so she didn't mind. They listened to Donna Summer, and Debbie pulled her up and made her dance with her._

**_I love to love you, baby_**

_Ruth was careful not to get too close. Being too close to Debbie made her feel… strange._

_She watched as Debbie hesitated between blue and purple eyeshadow. It was a soft, robin's egg blue in the end, and Ruth thought about how it made the color of her eyes change. Peach blush, slightly tinted powder. Ruth knew every movement of the makeup brush by now, she didn't even remember how many times she'd watched Debbie do this. 20? Maybe more._

_Debbie said she didn't have to drive her to the restaurant, she could drive herself. Debbie had a car that actually worked, unlike Ruth, who had to leave her rust heap in her parents garage because she hadn’t been able to afford to have it fixed. But it became a thing that Ruth drove Debbie to and from her dates. Her favorite was when Debbie called at 10, asking to be rescued. Sometimes, she came home with Ruth and they'd stay up half the night watching Mary Tyler Moore reruns or Starsky and Hutch. Or they'd read lines and drink too much wine and laugh their way through Shakespeare. Ruth liked doing silly voices, since they made Debbie roll around on the floor laughing. Debbie wasn't bad herself, she'd do Maggie the Cat sometimes, in a crazy, overblown Southern accent. Ruth would watch her enraptured, like hearing Debbie Eagan slaughter Tennessee Williams was the highlight of her life. Truth be told, it kind of was._

_Sometimes, Debbie didn't call at all. Ruth would give up somewhere around 2 a.m. and go to bed and stare at the ceiling. Sometimes she'd feel sorry for herself, drink too much wine and stay on the floor in front of the turntable with Joni as her only company. She told herself it was because Debbie got to date way more than she did. She was jealous of Debbie, that's all._

_She thought of Gary and his broad jaw and shiny hair. Vapid greaseball of a man. She glanced at the clock. 9:45 p.m._

_22 minutes later, the phone rang, and Ruth knew exactly who it was._

_Debbie was a little drunk._

_"Rescue me from the evening from hell? He's fucking booring, Ruth."_

_Ruth smiled. Drunk Debbie got whiny in a very entertaining way._

_It was a 10-minute drive, but Ruth got there in 8._

_Driving home, Debbie fiddled with the radio until Gloria Gaynor blared out of the speakers. They looked at each other and started to belt out the lyrics._

_**I never caaaan say goodbye** _

_Ruth felt an intense rush of happiness and tried not to dwell on why Debbie was the only person who could give her the same feeling as being on stage. KC & The Sunshine Band came on and they sang, or shouted more than sang,_ _T **hat's the way, aha, aha, I LIKE IT!**_ _Ruth almost missed a turn because they were so focused on the singalong._

_Debbie drank most of Ruth’s open bottle of cheap wine before she fell asleep with her head on Ruth's shoulder during an old episode of M*A*S*H. Ruth stopped watching the screen, mesmerized by the long, fine shadows her eyelashes cast on her cheek._

_Fuck off Gary, she whispered almost inaudibly while Radar rambled on about grape Nehi in the background._

Ruth hears the key turn in the door and smiles.

"Hi."

"Hey. How was the meeting?"

Debbie looked great when she left, like you'd expect from a network president. Ruth knows it made perfect sense for her not to go to that dinner: Debbie's magic works better on its own. The vague promise that something might happen with the goddess with the big hair and the statement jewelry across the table if those men play their cards right. It's easier to make people underestimate Debbie that way, which works in her favor. 

"Haven't heard that in a long time. You used to play that record a lot."

"It was my go-to music when I waited up for you while you were on dates with men who didn't deserve you."

"Sorry. That was kind of unfair to you."

"It was fine."

”Was it?”

It wasn't. But she's over it by now. _Guess what, Gary? You lose._

”No. Not really.”

”Not all of those dates were boring.”

”I know. Sometimes you stayed out all night. Not my favorite.”

”That’s not what I mean. Sometimes, I pretended they were boring so I could go home with you.”

”You did?”

”Mmhmm.”

Debbie is still strong. Not quite as strong as when she was Liberty Belle, but it's like her body has decided it’s a wrestler and won't go back to its previous state. Ruth loves it. When Debbie wraps her strong arms around her, she feels like she's home in a way she never has with anyone else. They're still a pretty explosive combination, and things get complicated sometimes. But as long as Debbie holds her this close during the last few bars of _River_ , she can get through anything. Ruth thinks she's the only one except Randy who knows how soft Debbie can be. 

"Do you remember Gary?"

"Who?"

Ruth smiles. Right answer. 

"Oh, nobody. Just this guy you used to date."

"I did?"

"Mhmm."

Debbie brushes her lips against her temple. 

"Come to bed?"

"Sure."

Gently she lifts the arm off the turntable and puts the record away, along with sad, lonely Ruth who didn't understand why her chest hurt when she saw Debbie Eagan in the corner at a party with her arms wrapped around some Ken doll's neck. She put her away with the Ruth Wilder who hated it when Debbie talked about Tex. 

Debbie takes the hand of the Ruth Wilder who got the girl in the end, the Ruth who was The Face in the showdown for Debbie Eagan's heart, and leads her into the bedroom. 

Debbie looked great when she left for her business dinner, but not as good as she looks now, after she changed into her silk robe, the shape of her breasts and her feminine hips outlined by the material. Ruth hooks a finger around the belt and pulls her closer.

”Did he hit on you this time too?”

”Maybe. Probably.”

”Probably…?”

”I was too busy negotiating the contract to care.”

Since she sidelined Tex, Debbie had become a force of nature that seemed unstoppable. She was born to do this. Ruth was insanely proud of her. She still wasn’t sure where she was headed herself and some days, she envied Debbie her certainty. 

”Does it bother you?”

Ruth sighs.

”A little. But I know it’s just part of the game.”

”You know they’re just a means to an end. Our end.”

Ruth has discovered her lover has a jealous streak, so she gets where Ruth is coming from. Debbie’s jealousy is pretty hot: it makes her feel desired. 

”I know. It’s fine, really.”

”Besides, I was distracted.”

”Yeah…? By what?”

”Thinking about this.”

Debbie cups her neck and buries her fingers in the fine strands of her hairline, gently scraping her nails along the skin. Ruth could purr like a cat from the sensation. Debbie leans down and Ruth eagerly gets up on tiptoe and meets her. They’ve been doing this for a while now, but it takes her breath away every single time. Maybe it always would. The kiss is long and deep, and Ruth forgets Gary and the men Debbie had dinner with. They got Debbie in her business suit, and Ruth got her wrapped in silk, impatiently pulling her toward the bed. Their bed. And she gets to watch the robe pool on the floor beside the bed, before Debbie spreads her legs and arches up into her when she lies down in the cradle of her thighs and feels her lover’s slick wetness against the skin of her stomach. _Fuck you, Gary_ she thinks while Debbie moans in her low, smoky bedroom voice when Ruth takes a hard nipple in her mouth.

”Thanks for waiting up for me, Ruthie.”

”Always," Ruth says softly as she kisses her way up Debbie's strong jawline.

After all, she thought to herself, she's had a lot of practice. 


	7. Maggie the Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie Eagan is not a cat person.

At first, Ruth thought she was hearing things. But there it was again: a pathetic little mewl. It took her awhile to find out where it was coming from. They hadn't had time to do anything about the yard yet; they'd only been here for a few weeks and she didn't know all its nooks and crannies. She finally found it under a bush close to the backdoor, hiding from a rare LA shower. A tiny, shivering greyish-brown tabby kitten. 

Obviously, she couldn't leave it there, so she scooped up the soppy furball and carried it inside. It still shivered when she pressed it against her chest wrapped in terry cloth. She'd never had a cat and had no clue how to care for one. It meowed softly, and her heart broke in a million pieces. She knew she couldn't put it back outside.

When Debbie got home, she knew immediately something was up. She could see it on Ruth's face as clearly as when she asked her if she'd slept with her husband and her face answered before she did. 

"Ruth… What's going on?"

"You can't be mad, OK?"

"We both know I get mad at you all the time. What's happening?"

Ruth kept one of her arms behind her back and when Debbie saw what she was holding, she shook her head. Emphatically. 

"No. No way. We're not getting a goddamn cat, Ruth. We work all the time and neither of us know anything about cats. And what if Randy's afraid of cats, or allergic? Seriously, Ruth. No."

There were two pairs of pleading eyes looking at her now. In the middle of the argument, the kitten let out a pathetic little noise, and her mom-heart clenched and skipped a beat. Ruth's pathetic doe eyes when she wanted something: Debbie hated it. Hated it so much that she did what Ruth wanted every single time, because Ruth was her kryptonite. 

"Ruth… No. You have to take it to a shelter."

"But… it's a baby? We can't abandon a BABY?"

Debbie swore under her breath. Why did this keep happening to her? Ruth's weird intense dedication to things she liked (including Debbie) was one of the reasons she fell in love with her, probably way earlier than she wanted to admit to herself. It also made her a challenge to live with sometimes. 

"It can stay… _tonight_. Then it has to go, I'm serious. We can't have a cat."

It was true. Owning a pet of any kind would be super inconvenient. Also, Debbie was definitely not a cat person. Not even close. Ruth is. Of course she is. 

***

The next morning when she gets back from picking up Randy from Mark and Susan, there's a kitten still very much present in their home. 

Randy, as it turned out, was so excited by the kitten that he shrieked in a key that could break glass and waved his little arms around so the cat looked at Ruth with round, panicked eyes and hid under the couch. Later that day, she found him rolling a marble along the floor, giggling delightedly as the kitten shoved it with her little paw. They could probably safely assume that Randy was neither allergic to nor afraid of cats. 

Later that day, Ruth looked at her like they'd never had a conversation about how they couldn't have a cat together. 

”Have you seen Maggie?”

”Really, Ruth, ’Maggie the cat’? Subtle.”

"But… it suits her?"

She slipped her arms around her waist, and Debbie rolled her eyes when Ruth put on a Southern accent. 

_"You were such a wonderful love… You were so exciting to be in love with."_

"A little too exciting in our case maybe…"

_"If I thought you'd never never, never make love to me again, why, I'd find me the longest, sharpest knife I could find, and I'd stick it straight into my heart. I'd do that."_

"You are such a nerd."

And Ruth gets up on tiptoe and kisses her, and Debbie gets a little weak in the knees, because Ruth is _her_ nerd and she’s crazy in love with her.

***

Two days later, Debbie called Ruth's name, from the walk-in closet by the muffled sound of it. Ruth knew that voice all too well. It was Debbie's uh-uh voice, or at least that's what Ruth called it in her head. 

She held one of the The Boots in her hand. They were gorgeous. Yves Saint Laurent, midnight blue suede and denim with a gold stripe. They matched one of Debbie's statement-y work suits _exactly_ , the one with the razor-sharp shoulders and the slit high up on Debbie's leg that made investors give her whatever she wanted. 

Except now, they fell more into the category of ”stinky” than gorgeous. Maggie had obviously decided they were exactly the right size for a convenient toilet.

"What the HELL, Ruth."

"OK, that's not good. I thought an outdoor cat would just… pee in the garden?"

"I have a meeting in an hour and now I have no fucking outfit for it!”

Debbie never, ever looked bad. But she knew looking good was Debbie's armor, and Ruth felt terrible about taking it away from her. 

”I’m sorry…”

Debbie clenched her fists and took a deep breath. Ruth could see she was doing everything not to lose her temper. 

”That's really not helpful right now!”

The slamming of the door as she left felt like Debbie slapped her in the face. This was their first fight since they moved in. Debbie was her weakness; she could cut deeper than anyone. 

***

Only belatedly does Ruth realize she could have hired someone to build this for her. None of them were broke anymore. 

She heard Debbie come home. The sound of her was all wrong: she was wearing the white shoes she didn't like. 

Earlier, Ruth carried Debbie’s left YSL boot to the garbage can and let it go, trying not to think about how much they cost or that Debbie bought them to celebrate the network breaking even after the first six months. _Them_ breaking even, because this was their project now.

The click-clack of the white shoes stopped outside the closet. 

”That’s the ugliest shelf I’ve ever seen.”

”I know it's not straight, but it works. Kind of like us."

Debbie snorts.

Debbie's shoes were now at a safe distance from the floor and from tiny kittens. But she was right. It was an ugly shelf. Ruth looked around at the mess of Home Depot wrappings and several crooked nails from her various attempts. The world hadn't lost a great carpenter in her, that was for sure. 

She had no clue if they were still fighting or not. She would have known back when they were friends, but she was still trying to figure out Debbie as her lover. 

Debbie kneeled on the floor and wrapped her arms around her. Her chin landed on Ruth’s shoulder. So, maybe not. 

"I'm sorry about this morning."

There is a minefield between them that might always be there. They knew exactly how to hurt each other; they’ve had so much practice, they got really good at it. 

It was a minefield not placed there by an enemy, but by themselves. 

Ruth leaned back into the embrace and put a hand on her thigh.

”Let me make it up to you?”

”If we have anymore sex, I might get a stress injury.”

It was true. It was like they were trying to make up for 10 years apart. Just this morning, Debbie took a sip of coffee before her eyes got stuck on Ruth’s worn, almost see-through top she liked to sleep in. She snaked her arm around her waist and pulled her close, and Ruth only needed to look into her eyes to get turned on. She took one of her nipples in her coffee-warm mouth through the fabric, then she blew on the wet patch. Ruth made an undignified noise as she spilled orange juice on the countertop behind her when Debbie bit the hard nipple gently. Ruth’s hands trembled as she pushed her sleep shorts down so Debbie's hand could fit more comfortably into her underwear when she slid her fingers along her wet folds. It was friction free: it didn’t take more than a possessive touch from Debbie to make Ruth this wet. Debbie’s toast grew cold, abandoned on its plate as she brought Ruth to a shuddering orgasm. 

”But worth it, right?”

"Definitely."

Debbie's voice is low and smoky: Ruth knows what it means.

They kiss, and it’s deep and hot and _slow_ and Ruth is so grateful for that, because Debbie is an amazing kisser and she gets weak in the knees from it every time.

”This carpet is nice and soft,” she said breathlessly, because that’s how Debbie always left her.

”Can we not ruin the rest of my outfit too by rolling around in sawdust?”

”I think you should take it off. You're way too hot naked to be wearing clothes.”

It occurred to Debbie, not for the first time, that if Ruth ever left her, she wouldn’t know how to be with anyone else. It's too late: she’s already used to feeling adored. No one would make her feel like Ruth did when she looked up at her with stars in her eyes. The blue suit ends up sloppily thrown over a chair back, no kitten access. 

Ruth straddled her and Debbie was tempted to let her do what she did sometimes and direct her laser focus on every inch of her body. But she rolled them over and gently grabbed Ruth's hands and held them over her head. She had an intense need to kiss their fight away. 

She knew that in Ruth’s mind, Debbie was the hot one. The shiny one. She watched Ruth arch up against her, a mouthwatering combination of lean wrestling muscle and soft curves. Ruth’s good looks might be more subtle than her own, but unlike Sam, Debbie never had any trouble seeing it. Ruth looked up at her with eyes darkened by desire. She blushed prettily when she was aroused. Debbie kissed her way along the soft underside of her firm breast, down to her hips. She pushed her tongue into her belly button, just because it amused her how ticklish Ruth was and how bad she was at hiding it. 

Ruth was breathless and restless when she kissed her way along her inner thigh, impatient to make Debbie go where she wanted her. Debbie shaped her lips around the hard, sensitive nub and felt Ruth shiver underneath her. She dragged her tongue along all the soft, slick pink-blushing skin and listened to Ruth's soft moaning in the quiet room. She loved how free Ruth was with her desire, loved the effect she had on her. 

She hovered over her; lips still slick with her arousal. 

”I love you.”

Ruth smiled at her and her heart ached, because sometimes Ruth made her feel like that damn kitten, for some reason. All mushy fucking tenderness. 

Ruth kissed her neck and cupped her breast, and Debbie thought about how she’d never said no to her. Never not wanted her to touch her. It was bound to happen one day, but she'd never had this insatiable physical need for anyone before. There were no strategies to avoid touch or intimacy, like with Mark, when she pretended not to see his outstretched hand when she went to put their plates in the dishwasher or some other made-up ”urgent” task. She'd been really good at faking sleep back then, so Mark would believe she was too tired for sex. She didn’t need to fake it now: Ruth wore her out and she slept like a baby most nights. She groaned, realizing how turned on she was as Ruth shifted underneath her and pressed her thigh against her center. 

It hadn't been Mark's fault. He just hadn’t been Ruth. 

After sex, Ruth rested her head on Debbie’s shoulder and Debbie played with her thick dark curls. Satiety made her feel heavy, sleepy and warm. 

”Can we at least house train the cat?”

Ruth winces: in her obsession with Debbie and how her body felt against her own, she’d almost forgotten about this morning.

”I’m really sorry, babe.”

Debbie sighs.

”What the hell. They were last season, anyway, fuck it.”

Ruth buried her face in the crook of Debbie’s neck to hide her smile. She knew this meant they had a cat now. They had a house together, and there was a cat. And a baby, even if Ruth had nothing to do with his conception. She would if she could have. She couldn’t believe how domestic they’d become, or how much she loved it.

Debbie lazily wondered, not for the first time, if Ruth was an exceptional lover or if the sex was like this because of the connection they’ve always had, that made everything vibrate on another frequency. How everything was just _more_ when they’re together. 

She smiled as she heard Ruth sing Streisand slightly off key in the shower. She drove her crazy sometimes and not always in a good way. But Ruth was the only one who could make her feel like this and she loves her. She'd willingly admit it's pretty great for her self-esteem to be around someone who looks at her like she's hung the moon. Ruth loved like she played Zoya: with all she had. 

She felt a soft touch. 

"Really? Again? No… Once was enough, go away." 

But there they were, those pleading eyes again. Debbie sighed. 

"Whatever. OK, come on."

When Ruth walked out of the bathroom, Debbie had fallen asleep, naked and only half covered up. She’s so beautiful, Ruth was breathless. She watched Debbie a lot, she knew that. But she couldn’t help it now that it was allowed and she didn’t have to hide it. 

Her lover’s hand was curled protectively around the soft little body resting on her naked chest, just above her heart. Ruth used to be the only one who knew that Debbie’s chest is the softest place to rest. Now Maggie knows too.

”I love you,” she whispers to the naked goddess and the tiny fur ball as they snore gently in time. 


	8. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth and Debbie goes to a business dinner. It's not a date. Not officially, at least.

It's not a date. Of course it isn't. Debbie can't be open about who Ruth is to her, especially not in that context. But it's the first time they're out together as a couple for more than just breakfast or a quick lunch when Debbie has a hole in her busy schedule. It feels like a date, and Ruth takes the liberty of calling it that in her own head. So, she wants to dress accordingly. 

Debbie would know what to wear, since she made a living from being pretty for years. But Ruth doesn't want to ask her, she wants to be the kind of woman who knows what to wear for a night like this. And she really wants Debbie to like what she sees.

The people they're having dinner with sound awful. Debbie’s business associates are mostly rich, conservative businessmen and their bored wives, the sort of people her former lover Tex might have known. It's still a momentous occasion. This is Ruth's new life, and she'll walk into it like it's the most important audition of her life. 

"Do you need help?"

"Yes, thank you."

The sales woman looks surprised at how grateful she sounds. She erroneously assumes Ruth is looking to impress a male boss. Ruth wants to correct her, she really does. But at the same time, she knows this is how it's going to be for them. It's hard: she's so proud of Debbie and of being her lover, she can feel it on the tip of her tongue, every time: _she_. My _girlfriend_. It will take practice to unlearn it. 

She feels like she's tried on the whole store and the clerk has a haunted look on her face before she finds it. It's a purplish-blue jewel tone, and while it's not revealing per se, it shows some skin. She remembers Debbie's whispered _Your eyes are such a pretty shade of blue_ one morning when their relationship was brand new and they were rediscovering each other and each other's bodies. The shade makes her eye color pop. She can't afford it, but she's never really been able to afford anything she wants, so she's decided she doesn't care. Hopefully, she can wear her one good pair of heels with it. 

***

She touches up the bright red lipstick. The sales woman at the makeup counter said she could totally pull it off, with her coloring, and looking in the mirror she agrees. 

Debbie walks out of their bedroom, absentmindedly putting an earring in, halfway through a sentence when she stops and stares at her. 

"Wow… you look…"

She doesn't finish. She stops close enough for Ruth to feel her body heat and looks down on her. Ruth's mouth is dry now, and she's aching to touch her.

"Is it... OK?"

Debbie shakes her head, slowly. 

"It's going to make me want you all night, it's a disaster."

Ruth looks at Debbie's dress: a fairly simple design, black with a sequin cluster on one shoulder and probably intends to be demurely draped. But then there's the woman wearing it.

"If I'd known you were going to look this good, I would have worn something more exciting."

Ruth wants to laugh at the fact that Debbie thinks she looks like anything other than a total traffic hazard in that outfit. Sure, Debbie is hot, and she knows it, but Ruth gets the feeling sometimes that she still doesn't quite know the effect she has on people. 

***

Nervousness and anticipation fight for control as they arrive at the high-end restaurant. She feels great about arriving on Debbie's arm, even if it's just mentally. But she has no idea what will be asked of her tonight. Debbie fits in in these contexts: Ruth isn't sure that she will. 

Debbie puts her hand on her knee and squeezes it reassuringly. 

"You're going to be fine."

Bash arrives shortly after them, alone. He has that faraway look on his face, the one he's had ever since Florian died. Ruth really feels for him, even though he was an asshole during their Vegas stint. 

Debbie introduces her to a bunch of men who look way more interested in money than good television. 

"This is Ruth Wilder, one of the talented directors we will be working with."

Ruth nods at them. She feels like she's playing a role in a play she hasn't rehearsed. 

"Miss Wilder.”

"Ruth was one of the directors for a popular weekend family show I produced."

"Wholesome stuff, I hope?"

Cherry and Tammé wrestling old ladies and Klan members flashes through Ruth's mind. 

"Very. We worked with the Concerned Women of America during production. Ruth and I've also done live entertainment in Las Vegas."

"A little less wholesome, I imagine."

Debbie laughs along with his self-satisfied chuckling. 

"Perhaps a little.”

Ruth knows it's totally fake, but she's the only one: these men are eating it up. 

”You would have liked it, Charlie. Ruth leaned heavily on anti-Soviet sentiments and American values.”

”A patriot. Bravo, Miss Wilder.”

She very much doubts he would have enjoyed any part of GLOW, except maybe how good Debbie looked as Liberty Belle, since he keeps talking to her cleavage and not her face.

"We will actually be seeing a version of GLOW on the new schedule."

"Sounds promising! Look forward to seeing your work, Miss Wilder."

"Don't be alone with him under any circumstances," Debbie whispers quickly as he walks away. 

When the introductions are done, Ruth offers to get them drinks, mostly as an excuse to catch her breath before dinner. 

When the bartender spots her, Ruth smiles at him, before she remembers that she's not a waitress here and he's not her co-worker.

"Busy night?"

He looks surprised that she cares. Guests normally only talk to bartenders if they need more to drink or if they want to morosely tell them their life story over last call. 

"These guys don't exactly order umbrella drinks, so not too bad." He gestures to a group of potential advertisers gathered around Debbie.

"Friends of yours?

Ruth shakes her head. 

"I should offer them some cocktail napkins, the way they keep drooling over that blonde." 

"She's the president of a TV network."

”Who? The bombshell?”

"Yes, the 'bombshell'."

"I bet they underestimate her."

”She’s counting on it.”

”You know her?”

Ruth smiles. She might be the only one who does. 

”I do.”

”Shit, sorry. I didn’t realize.”

”It’s fine. She gets that a lot.”

”Lemme guess. She's married to that guy?”

He points to a perfectly side-parted Ken doll, hair seeming glued in place, teeth too white to be natural.

”Nope. She's divorced. But she’s here with someone.”

”Do they know that?”

”They don’t.”

One man puts his hand in the small of Debbie’s back. It’s light and subtle, but Ruth can tell he’s testing the waters. She frowns. She knows she can’t be by Debbie’s side, but that doesn’t mean she wants someone else to take her place. 

Debbie takes a small half-step forward, barely noticeable, but the hand slips away. He lets it hover for a moment but decides against putting it back. Ruth tries to hide a smile. _That’s my girl._

She isn't worried the bartender will find out she's Debbie's date. If something is far enough from someone’s mind, they won't recognize it even if it's right in front of their face. 

”You look great too, by the way.”

He looks sheepish for not mentioning it right away, but she gets it: Debbie is the most beautiful woman in the world to her, so she knows everywhere they go, people will stare at her and want her. If Ruth lets the jealousy get the better of her, the only person she’ll hurt is herself, and possibly Debbie, and she’s done hurting her. She’ll have to comfort herself with the fact that Debbie picked her, of all potential lovers. 

Dinner is fine, even if Ruth is tense and terrified someone will notice how far out of her comfort zone she is. When the appetizers arrive, she feels Debbie's ankle slide along her calf. It's not flirty, just comforting. She looks up at her and Debbie mouths _You OK?_ She nods and smiles. Checking in before the match starts, like they always do. 

During the entrees, Debbie excuses herself to go to the ladies' room. 

"Ruth? Would you join me?"

There is some tiresome sexist clucking about women always going to the bathroom together, but they ignore it. At least that stereotype is true.

As it turns out, Debbie didn't need to go to the bathroom. 

"I just wanted to be alone with you for a minute."

Ruth moves close to her and looks into her eyes. 

"I really want to kiss you right now."

Debbie trails her fingertips along Ruth's underarm, and her touch stays on her skin like a memory. 

"I can't wait to get out of here," she whispers, almost touching Ruth's earlobe with her lips. She shivers; Debbie has that effect on her. 

Ruth knows she's probably supposed to say no to dessert or pretend to eat it and leave some on the plate, at the very least. Successful women are supposed to be on perpetual diets, no matter how thin. But the chocolate cake is amazing, and she needs something to distract her from another kind of hunger. Sometimes she swears she can taste Debbie on her tongue even when they haven't kissed. 

After dinner, Debbie and Bash get caught up in a lengthy and boring conversation with one of the network’s advertisers, and Ruth finds herself back at the bar, chatting amicably with the bartender again. Maybe she likes him because he reminds her of Charlie. 

”So… I get off in a couple of hours. Wanna come to my place for a drink?”

She gets it: it's a fair misunderstanding. She's been hit on plenty of times as a waitress too. 

”I’m sorry, I’m actually here with someone.”

He looks disappointed, but doesn't voice it, to his credit. She lingers a while to show him there are no hard feelings. 

Finally, the advertisers are sufficiently buttered up and Debbie exchanges meaningless pleasantries with some of them as they leave. 

As they walk out together, Debbie places a light proprietary hand in the small of Ruth's back. Nothing that would look strange to an observer, but Ruth loves the subtly possessive gesture. 

She looks back at the bartender and gives him a little wave, as he stares at her walking out with the "bombshell" with raised eyebrows. 

”It was an interesting experience to watch a room full of rich guys, and probably Rob Gruber's wife, fall over themselves to hit on my girlfriend. That might take some getting used to.”

She keeps the tone light, so Debbie won’t think she's upset.

”Did they? I didn’t notice.”

Debbie says it in an almost disinterested tone.

”Come on… You must have seen those guys drool over you?”

Debbie shrugs.

”Didn’t notice.”

Debbie stops in front of their car and pulls her close.

”Because I… only have eyes for you.”

And just like that, Ruth feels helplessly soft, made breathless by Debbie’s words.

Debbie glances back at the restaurant.

"Did that guy ask for your number?”

Ruth smiles. 

"He kind of skipped that part and went straight for 'do you want to see my etchings'?"

"I'm not surprised."

Debbie slides her light coat off and puts it over Ruth’s shoulders, and she’s puzzled by why, until she backs her against the dusty car and kisses her greedily. Ruth’s heart races from the alpha female display, dominant but so considerate at the same time.

Debbie opens the door to the back seat. Ruth's eyes widen as she gets where Debbie's going with this. When Debbie offers her hand, she takes it quickly and lets herself be pulled onto her lap. Debbie pushes the blue fabric up, over her knees. Ruth isn't wearing tights and Debbie relishes the feeling of her satiny skin under her palms. She's so much stronger than she looks: Debbie feels the lean, firm muscle move as she slowly touches her lover. Ruth gasps when she lets the pads of her thumbs slide up her inner thighs. Ruth takes a shuddering breath. 

"You look so fucking good tonight," Debbie whispers, before they kiss. 

She hooks her thumb around the edge of Ruth's underwear and Ruth looks at her, jaw hanging.

"Are you sure we should do this here?"

Debbie shakes her head. 

"No. But I really want to."

She makes Ruth look into her eyes. 

"Do you?"

"God, baby. I do, so much…"

She quickly shifts to allow Debbie to pull her underwear off. They're new too, in case Debbie wanted to do exactly what she just did, but they're already on the floor. Impatiently, Ruth shifts again and straddles her, spreading her legs for her and holding her breath while she waits for Debbie to touch her. Debbie moans when she feels how wet she is, and Ruth is right there with her. The angle is awkward, and Debbie knows it's going to hurt her wrist to keep going, but she can make Ruth come like this, she’s done it before. 

That bartender probably isn’t a worse guy than any other guy who has hit on Ruth, or her for that matter, back when she was fucking all the pretty young valets and doormen in Vegas. She just hadn’t known what she was looking for, back then. She had just known she was particularly malcontent when Russell came to visit Ruth, and that the buffet of young male beauty did very little for her in the bedroom. This was the first time Debbie saw someone openly hit on her former best friend since they became lovers and she'd been wondering how she'd react. She didn't like it, but it was obvious that Ruth wasn't interested. Every time Debbie glanced in her direction, she felt warm inside seeing Ruth look back at her with stars in her eyes. 

It didn't mean she didn't want to set the record straight. Ruth is _hers_ and she is Ruth’s, and maybe this is a dumb alpha female display, but she does it because she can and because she loves how Ruth feels underneath her when she's this aroused. And because it was hard to be near her and not be able to touch her when she looked this good. Not touching in public is one of the challenges of their relationship she won’t enjoy. 

Except maybe right now when she was taking all her frustrations out on her lover. She moves her fingers against her warm, welcoming softness. She loves doing this, loves sliding her hand through the warmth, getting her fingers covered with silky arousal, getting reacquainted with the sensitive nerve endings that make Ruth squirm and moan with every motion until she trembles against her hands. 

Ruth is slick and swollen under her fingertips, and her eyes flutter shut as Debbie enters her. Breathless, Ruth grinds against the heel of her hand. Debbie’s wrist hurts now, like she knew it would, but she can't stop watching Ruth's face as she gives into her desire, unguardedly beautiful. 

Fortunately, Debbie has baby wipes in the car; they're not only convenient when she's out with Randy, but also for cleaning your lover's excess arousal off of your hands and your wrist after she soaks you during her climax. 

Debbie assumes they're done, but when Ruth rakes her darkened eyes over her, she knows they're not. Awkwardly half crouching, supporting herself with her hand on the headrest behind Debbie, Ruth uses her other hand to rip the fabric of Debbie's tights and push her hand into her underwear. She groans when she feels how warm and slick she already is for her. She kisses her greedily as she moves her hand in tight little circles, totally focused on her pleasure. Debbie doesn't take long: seeing the hunger in Ruth's eyes all night and feeling her come apart already almost got her there, and she drowns the sound of her pleasure in their kiss as she trembles against Ruth's nimble fingers.

They stay holding each other for a few minutes, enjoying the afterglow. 

Driving home, Ruth softly caresses the back of Debbie’s neck, just to keep in physical contact with her. Debbie thinks back to how Ruth would whisper "Are you OK?" with her hand on her neck, just before the match started. Even when they hated each other, or pretended to hate each other, she honestly doesn't know, she would do it. Some things might always be fraught between them; some issues never resolved. But if it’s up to her, she will die with Ruth’s wrinkly hand resting lightly on her neck, just like this, 60 years from now. 


	9. Birthday Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie is a hard person to find birthday presents for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Smut. Lesbihonest, this doesn't do anything to advance the plot, whatsoever.

Debbie stops when she sees the supple leather skirt in the window and looks at Ruth.

”You’d look great in that.”

She slides her hand down to the small of Ruth’s back, almost down to her ass. Ruth is acutely aware of the warmth. It excites her when she touches her like this in public. She objects when Debbie says she should try it on, but it’s mostly for show, because the truth is, she really wants to know how she would feel wearing it. The price tag gives her vertigo. But thanks to Debbie, she doesn’t feel like she doesn’t deserve nice things anymore.

Debbie is hard to buy presents for. Unlike Ruth, she's an expert at shopping for herself and there’s nothing Ruth can buy her that she can’t already afford. So, it’s more a question of imagination. It’s Debbie’s birthday next week, and when Ruth sees the look in her eyes when she comes out of the fitting room, she knows what to get her. 

She pretends she’d never use it, that she doesn’t want to spend the money, that she wouldn't be comfortable showing that much skin. Debbie looks disappointed, but not surprised: she knows Ruth doesn't care about clothes and fashion the way she does.

The next day, Ruth goes back for it, taking a deep breath before she puts the credit card she rarely uses on the counter. She can’t wait to see that look in Debbie's eyes again.

***

She chews and swallows a breath mint and checks her face in the mirror: she wears _way_ more makeup than she normally does. More Zoya than Ruth. She wants to look different, because she’ll act differently, and she needs the courage. She slides her hands along the soft leather. She loves how it looks on her and, more importantly, how it makes her feel. She tightens the belt so her coat doesn't open before it's supposed to. 

Briskly, she walks past Debbie's secretary and smiles. 

"Don't worry, it's fine, she'll see me."

"But…"

She ignores the half-hearted objection: she knows she won't get in trouble for letting Ruth pass. 

Debbie looks annoyed when she hears the click of the door, until she sees who it is. 

"Ruth? What are you…" She rakes her eyes over her and stops talking. "Wow. You look great."

Her voice trails off again when Ruth undoes the belt of the unseasonal trench coat and shows her what's underneath. Or rather, what's not. Ruth is wearing a sheer black bra and the leather skirt Debbie told her she loved with the look on her face, and nothing else.

Without breaking eye contact, Debbie presses a button on her intercom. 

"Cancel my one o'clock, Linda. Tell Mr. Johnston there's something I need to handle urgently.”

Ruth walks over to Debbie and straddles her but makes sure they touch as little as possible. 

"Happy Birthday."

She drinks Debbie in: the razor-sharp jacket, crisp silk shirt, heels, strict updo, a hint of Calvin Klein's Obsession on the skin of her neck. She can’t lie to herself about how much Debbie’s network president persona turns her on. She’s been drawn to Debbie’s dominant energy since way before they became lovers. But she wants to flip the script. 

She takes her lover's wrists and places them on the armrests of her leather desk chair. 

”Don’t move your hands,” she breathes against Debbie's lips. 

She starts unbuttoning her shirt slowly, button for button. Debbie’s chest is heaving as she looks up at her.

She almost forgets herself when she sees what Debbie's wearing underneath. It’s some sort of plum-purplish color, Ruth doesn’t know how to describe it, except that it makes her mouth water, like every time she sees Debbie in it. She wears it as a promise when they go on dates, on days she hopes will end like this one, or just as a present for Ruth. Ruth has to remind herself that this is all about Debbie, and not how it made her feel that Debbie had worn sexy underwear for her, because she wanted to seduce her that night. 

”Did you wear this because you were hoping something might happen when you got home?”

”Mmhmm.”

”Play your cards right and that could still happen.”

”It feels like it’s happening now.”

Debbie leans in to kiss her, but Ruth pulls back. This time, she decides the _when_ and the _how_.

She takes a step back and slides the silk shirt off Debbie's shoulders. She can’t take her eyes off her, chest heaving and cheeks blushing red, taking ragged breaths as she responds to Ruth. 

Slowly, she pulls the zipper down on Debbie's skirt, and her lover obeys when she mumbles "Up" and lets her slide it off. 

She leans in, feeling goosebumps along her arms as her overheated skin touches hers. She kisses her way down her neck, to the lace of her bra, but doesn’t touch any other part of her. 

She kisses her breasts on every available inch of skin except for where Debbie really wants her, cruelly backing away and making her way up to her neck again. Debbie makes an impatient little noise. 

Ruth slides the lace of her bra down and touches her nipple with the tip of her tongue, and watches it harden and contract. Greedily, she takes it into her mouth and swirls her tongue around the areola, relishing the sound of Debbie’s soft moaning. When she fists her hands in her hair to keep her close, Ruth backs away. 

”I said… Don’t move your hands.”

She grabs Debbie’s wrists, gently but firmly, and puts them back on the arm rests. She can tell Debbie is a little shocked by her assertiveness but also doesn’t mind. Really doesn’t mind… Ruth is already uncomfortably aroused, so she's right there with her. She finally presses her lips against Debbie's and almost loses focus again from Debbie's warm tongue seeking hers out eagerly. Her soft moaning makes her center ache. 

Ruth scrapes her short fingernails along the inside of Debbie’s thigh, and her lover’s breathing becomes ragged. She looks glorious like this, aroused and shivering under Ruth’s hands. She slides her fingers under the hem of her lace underwear and moans. She's so warm and slick, and Ruth never tires of touching her. She knows she can make her come like this, drawing lazy circles with her fingers around the firm, slick little hill, or slide into her and press the heel of her hand against her. Debbie is really good at adjusting so the pressure is just what she needs. But a birthday present should have an element of surprise.

She shifts the little device to the palm of her hand. She had been uncomfortable when she walked into the shop and mortified when she had to answer questions about what she was looking for. The tattooed, body-pierced clerk had looked bored, but she still felt intensely out of place in the unfamiliar environment. He hadn't even blinked when she said "my girlfriend", which was a momentous occasion of sorts, since it was the first time she called Debbie that in front of a stranger. 

”Don’t move your hands…” she breathes against her lips as she activates it and presses it against Debbie’s warm, slick sex.

”Oh, fuck… Ruth…”

It was obviously worth the embarrassment, judging by Debbie's heated response to the unfamiliar sensation. Ruth feels in her restless body how she's rushing toward climax. Debbie presses her face against Ruth's neck when she comes, to hide the sounds of her pleasure.

"Good girl," Ruth whispers. Debbie looks at her as she puts the flat little vibrator in her mouth to lick Debbie's come off of it, before putting it back in the hidden pocket of the skirt. 

"Jesus, Ruth…"

"Seems like that one's a keeper."

"Definitely. Can I move my hands now?"

"Yeah…"

"Good."

Debbie gets up and backs Ruth against her desk. 

"Can you be quiet?”

”Probably not.”

Ruth knows she’s a loud lover. Debbie does that to her. Debbie fumbles for a remote control on her desk and presses the on-button. She turns up the volume on the action sequence of whatever midday rerun is playing and gets down on her knees on the soft carpet. She slides Ruth's underwear down and pushes the soft leather up around her hips. Ruth is really grateful for the noise when Debbie presses her lips against her, and she groans from the sensation of her warm tongue on her over-sensitized sex. It doesn't take long to make her come. Debbie knows her body, and watching her come apart under her hands a few moments ago is the exact brand of self-produced pornography Ruth prefers. 

Afterward, they hold each other and kiss lazily for a while, but Ruth knows Debbie still has a lot of her work day left, so she reluctantly pulls away. 

Debbie rummages around in her desk drawer for something and mumbles _oh thank god_ when she finds a toothbrush.

”I have a two o’clock. No matter how much I enjoyed doing that, I can’t talk to him with your come still on my tongue.”

She shapes her lips around the word, making it round and inviting; just hearing Debbie say _come_ like that makes her horny again. 

Debbie offers her to borrow the toothbrush, but Ruth shakes her head. She wants to walk out of there just like this, in the leather skirt that turns Debbie on, her underwear sticky with arousal from Debbie’s mouth on her, smelling of Debbie’s come and her sweat and their scents combined. She wants to get in her car with her lover all over her and walk into their home still tasting her on her tongue. 

”Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Debbie bites her lower lip and smiles.

”I like this side of you.”

Ruth wraps her arms around her.

”I think I do too.”

”Maybe we can… pick up where we left off when I get home?”

”Maybe…”

Debbie gives her a little half-smile saying who is she kidding, they can’t keep their hands off each other and Ruth is a slave to Debbie’s desire.

”Happy Birthday, babe.”

She winks at Debbie as she leaves, adoring the still hungry look on her face. They're not finished yet. They never are. 


	10. 28th of June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 28th of June, 2013.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys/gays <3

Ruth stands nervously on the sloping steps, waiting. It feels unreal that this is happening, after all these years.

A dapper old man walks up and joins her.

”You too?”

Ruth nods and smiles.

”It’s about time, don’t you think?”

”It really is.”

”I’m George.”

”Ruth.”

”My _fiancé_ is parking the car."

They beam at each other and he points out another dapper elderly man walking toward them.

"There he is!"

”He’s handsome.”

”Always has been.” 

There’s no mistaking the proud tone of his voice.

”Where’s the lucky lady?”

”She’s picking up a friend of ours, her car broke down. They’re on their way.”

”Been together long?”

”28 years…”

”Who asked whom if that’s not an impertinent question?”

Ruth smiles.

_Debbie had been unusually quiet that night. When Ruth asked about work, she said ’fine’ in a non-committal way. She usually had a lot to say on the subject and Ruth enjoyed her acerbic account of events immensely._

_She took a bottle of wine out of the fridge, but it was a Friday, so nothing strange about that._

_Ruth turned on the news while Debbie moved around in the kitchen. She’d seen the footage of cheering people several times during the day already, but she couldn’t get enough of it._

_When Debbie walked into the living room, Ruth was still entranced. She turned around when she heard the sound of crystal, touching and singing. Champagne? She’d expected red._

_There was a little velvet box next to the glasses._

_She was afraid her heart might stop as Debbie went down on one knee, with far less grace than she would have when she was a wrestler, but still. She opened the little box and looked up at Ruth._

_”I’ve loved you for 30 years. It’s time, don’t you think?”_

_They had been together for 28, but they both knew this love story had started way before that._

_Ruth was too choked up to answer for a few seconds. Then she let out a breathy ”Yes, I love you”, and Debbie was crying too. It had been years since she sat on Debbie’s lap, but she crawled up there now, after helping her up from her prostrate position. After Debbie slid the ring on, Ruth couldn’t stop touching it. It was the most beautiful thing._

_She looked into Debbie’s eyes, traced her angular face. She didn’t know it was possible to fall more in love with her after 30 years._

”She did.”

She slides the tips of her fingers over the smooth row of diamonds with one single blue stone next to it. Debbie said she chose it to match her eyes. 

”Oh, that’s my son. Randy! Over here!”

”Handsome…”

”He gets that from his other mother.”

”Hey, Mom.”

Ruth thinks again how similar some of his body language and gestures are to Debbie’s. He’s a great hugger, just like her. 

She can still remember how it felt the first time he called her mother. 

_He had fallen over, and opened his chubby toddler arms and sobbed, ”Mommy!” Ruth had looked around for Debbie before she realized Randy was talking to_ her _._

_She wasn't sure how Debbie would feel about it; she was his real mother after all. Next time it happened, Debbie observed them in silence for a moment, before pulling Ruth into her arms, still holding Randy. She gradually started to refer to Randy as ”our son” when Mark wasn’t around._

Ruth can’t take her eyes off Debbie as she steps out of the car. Her hair is white now and she’s curvier, they both are, but it doesn’t make a bit of difference: she’s still the most beautiful woman in the world to her. Debbie used to dye her hair blonde to cover the greys and whites, but Ruth convinced her to go natural. The white suits her, and Ruth secretly finds the ice queen vibe hot.

George made an appreciative sound. 

”Someone played their cards right back in the day, I see.”

Ruth grins at him.

”Right?”

Randy smiles and puts an arm around her shoulders.

”It’s sweet that you still have such a crush on Mom after all these years.”

Ruth laughs.

”I wouldn’t call it a _crush_ after 30 years.”

”Don’t you, though?”

Ruth looks at the approaching figure again.

”I guess I do. She’s the love of my life.”

Randy squeezes her shoulder.

”I know.”

She's wearing the wedding present Ruth got her ahead of time: a pair of beautiful YSL heels with a tiny tabby cat plushie sitting in one of them. It was only fair. 

The crisp silk of Debbie's off-white dress rustles softly as she pushes Ruth’s hair out of her face. 

”Hey.”

She takes her hand and looks into her eyes, and Ruth remembers the first time Debbie looked at her that way. It still makes her weak in the knees.

Ruth hugs Tammé, careful not to crush the red rose pinned to her lapel. After so many years, she feels more like family than a friend.

”Sorry about the car thing.”

”Oh, it’s fine.”

Debbie said once that since she started sleeping with her best friend, she had to get another best friend for when she needed to talk about Ruth behind her back. She was only half serious, but Ruth knew what she meant. Turning your best friend into your lover was challenging in a lot of ways. They had been good friends but were great as lovers. But she was glad Debbie had Tammé.

Ruth has a friend she has lunch or drinks with sometimes. She and Lori met on a show Ruth directed for one of Debbie's networks, and they stayed in touch. Lately they had mostly been talking about Lori’s crumbling marriage. 

_”You guys have been together for ages; it must get pretty slow in the bedroom sometimes?”_

_Ruth smiled what she hoped was a sympathetic smile and said ”maybe sometimes”, even though that was a lie. The truth was Ruth didn’t know what she’s talking about. She and Debbie didn’t spend half their time in bed anymore, like when they first got together, but they touched all the time. When Ruth told Lori that Debbie still held her hand every time they watched a movie, she looked so crestfallen that Ruth had been toning her own love life down not to upset her. Ruth loved watching TV curled into Debbie’s side, or when Debbie had a long, hard day, she’d lay down with her head in Ruth’s lap. Sometimes she fell asleep, and Ruth still caught herself watching her and not the screen. Some evenings they spent sharing a bottle of wine and talking about everything and nothing, and Ruth still held Debbie’s hand for most of it, since nothing grounded her like touching Debbie._

_Sometimes when they were busy and overworked and their sex life ended up on the back burner, she still loved the looks Debbie gave her and how the little touches escalated until one night they dragged each other into the bedroom to make up for those other days._

_Her future wife broke her leg once, with her bare hands. Maybe by accident, maybe not. She had learned the hard way not to tell people that story, they didn’t get it, or her and Debbie. So, she never told Lori. Sheila had been right, back when she was still a wolf: just because she hurt her didn’t mean she didn’t love her. In their case, it was the other way around. Even with a broken bone, Ruth had known Debbie loved her, even though she hadn’t figured out in what way. To be fair, she hadn’t told Lori the story about how she slept with her future wife’s husband either._

_She tried to be a good friend, but she really didn’t know what Lori was talking about when she described her crumbling marriage. She never fell out of love with Debbie._

_Still, the engagement made everything feel new. Ruth loved seeing her hand with the ring against Debbie’s skin. Debbie liked to slide her fingers over the smooth diamonds when they kissed. Ruth felt infatuated again, like when they first started sleeping together._

_They went to pick a ring out for Debbie, and Ruth loved seeing it on her hand because of what it meant. She kept looking at her during the drive home, and when she asked Ruth what she was thinking, she answered honestly. Debbie stopped the car at the Mulholland Scenic Overlook, where they had been on a date in the beginning of their relationship, and Ruth climbed over to the driver’s seat and straddled her. They hadn’t made out in a car in two decades, and they couldn't stop laughing about it on the way home. They were both incredulous they did it, at their age. But when they got home, Ruth dropped her handbag in the hallway and turned to Debbie and she could see it in her eyes too. Her future wife threw her expensive jacket sloppily over a chair instead of hanging it up, and they ended up in bed, touching impatiently, urgently, like in th_ e _beginning of their relationship._

_Debbie had aged with such grace. Ruth loved the lines on her face and how she'd been there for the formation of every single one of them. She was particularly proud of the laughter lines in the corners of her eyes._

_She loved how she could still make Debbie moan her name just before she came, loved that she could still drive her crazy after all these years._

_And she adored how Debbie mumbled “I love you” just before she fell asleep. They slept cuddling, like they used to, and woke up in the middle of the night from pins and needles, also like they used to. They rolled apart, but Debbie caught her hand and Ruth felt the metal against her fingers when she squeezed it back and she wondered if you could actually die from happiness, since there didn’t seem to be enough space for her heart in her chest anymore, it had grown so much in the last few days_.

Debbie takes her hand.

”Ready?”

"No regrets?" 

”You think that after 30 years and a marriage proposal, this is the day I change my mind? When I’m suddenly over you?”

Ruth rolls her eyes. 

”No, that’s not what I…”

Debbie pulls her close, careful not to ruin her makeup. It’s not like Debbie Eagan would get married looking anything but flawless.

”I love you.”

It never gets old. Hearing Debbie say those words hasn’t become less exciting in the 28 years since she said them for the first time.

The actual ceremony is short, so short she barely remembers anything after, except how gorgeous Debbie is and Tammé trying not to cry and failing miserably. 

Afterwards, on the city hall steps, Randy produces a tiny bag of rainbow confetti and Debbie rolls her eyes good-naturedly. Ruth kisses his cheek and calls him the best son ever. And Debbie pulls her in for another kiss, a real one this time. Ruth could have died happy right there, in her arms.

They go for dinner at their favorite restaurant and are joined by Ernest and his wife, who were also like family by now. Lori doesn’t bring her husband, which puts her in a way better mood than usual. 

At the end of the evening, she tells Ruth she's leaving him. 

”It isn’t enough. I deserve someone who looks at me like Debbie looks at you: like you’re the only woman in the world.”

Ruth pulls her into a hug.

”You do.”

She goes back to the table and takes Debbie’s hand, holding it a little tighter than she normally does. Debbie frowns.

”Everything OK?”

”Yeah. I’m just in love with my wife.”

Randy smiles at them, and Ruth remembers what it was like during the terrible months when he was 15 and wouldn’t talk to her after finding out she’d slept with his father while Mark was married to his mother. When Randy said he'd rather go see a play with Ruth than catch a ballgame with his father, Mark blurted it out. It took Ruth well over a year to forgive him enough to even talk to him again. 

_One night, Randy called her and said he had been caught doing drugs at a friend's house, asking Ruth to come get him, and to promise not to tell Debbie._

_On the way home, she stopped the car._

_”I can’t do this. I don’t lie to your mother anymore, ever. So, I have to tell her. I will do anything for you, but not that. If it makes you hate me, I’ll have to live with it.”_

As it turned out, there were no drugs and no getting caught by his best friend’s parents. He just wanted to know if he could convince Ruth to lie to his mother. After she passed the test, they slowly made their way back to each other, but it took a full year before he called her Mom again.

***

They leave for their honeymoon the following morning. When Debbie had shown Ruth the leaflet for the resort, she had to look twice at the price tag to see if she read the number of zeros right. Unlike Debbie, who wore her affluence comfortably, she never quite got used to having money. All those years of living hand-to-mouth was in her bones, somehow. But she couldn’t say no to honeymooning in a rooftop jacuzzi with the love of her life, so she took a deep breath and said yes.

The reception clerk looks at their reservation. 

”Mrs. Wilder?”

Ruth is just about to open her mouth and answer, but Debbie beats her to it. 

"Yes, thank you."

”Since you’re in the honeymoon suite, I assume congratulations are in order.”

Debbie smiles and thanks him before she takes the key card and walks toward the elevator, like nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Ruth just stands there for a few moments before she follows.

Debbie presses the button to their floor and turns her head to look at her.

”I’ve used Mark’s stupid name for long enough, don’t you think?”

”Yeah.”

Tears are rolling down her cheeks when she turns to Debbie and pushes her up against the elevator wall. She kisses her, like she used to when she was young and poured all her passion into every touch to persuade Debbie to pick her out of everyone vying for her attention. 

When they reach their suite, Debbie says she needs a shower.

The view over the harbor is breathtaking. Debbie’s passport is thrown on the lush duvet. She picks it up and opens it. Debra Catherine Wilder. She tears up again as she realizes that the change has been months in the making. 

Debbie walks up behind her, smelling of jasmine shampoo and heliotrope perfume. Ruth breathes her in.

”I kind of assumed you would say yes. Do you mind?”

”Do I mind that my wife knows that I love her? I really don’t.”

Debbie wraps her arms around her.

”Hi, Mrs. Wilder.”

”Hi, Mrs. Wilder,” she echoes, leaning into her. The metal of her new wife’s wedding ring feels cool against her hand as she places it on top of hers. 

She wouldn’t change a single thing about them or the last 30 years. Not even the broken bones. 


End file.
